Fantastic Breasts & Where To Find Them
by sandraCOMA
Summary: AKA Newt Scamander and the Bronxvitch School of Witchcraft (A Harry Potter - Fantastic Beasts - Potterverse story) In 1922, Newt Scamander arrives at the Bronxvitch School of Witchcraft in New York as a visiting scholar. However, he is distracted from his hunt for the elusive Succubeast by the alluring witches of Bronxvitch.
1. Cass

Inextinguishable oil-lamps were burning low in the attic meeting room. A small crowd of my compatriot witches and wizards were awaiting the visiting scholar from the Ministry of Magic, here to stay at the Bronxvitch School of Witchcraft for a four month residency.

When he entered through the painting of the founder's daughter, my heart sped up. He was only about twenty-five years old, at most four years older than me, and dashing from his messy hair down to his black leather boots. I had expected the rising Magizoologist to be bookish and professorial, but he instead cast the aura of a classic English adventurer, the consummate charming gentleman. Grover was shaking his hand and grinning broadly to welcome him to Bronxvitch. But I noticed that I caught the corner of Newt's glance.

I never thought that I would end up at an all-girls school in America. I had given up hope of going to any magic school at all. Unable to attend Hogwarts, my Uncle Bob and Aunt Isla had taught me all that they could. They encouraged me to read everything they gave me, which was indeed an impressive home library of books on spells, potions and magical history. There was no restriction on Aunt Isla's Dark Arts section, either. How I had gone from that introverted teenager to where I was now - pursuing a Masters in Magic at an upstart college in New York - I was still figuring out.

Newt had the charismatic good-looks of a moving picture star. His neatly trimmed moustache accentuated the resemblance to a hero from the silent movies. I regretted dressing in casual school robes, as our guest had arrived in stylishly dapper dress robes. He seemed the pinnacle of 1920's English wizard style, with his cloak hemmed high around the waist, and he wore his robes as if he had just sauntered onto the Tenditch court. I longed for him to come and talk to me, but Grover was keeping him busy, navigating him through the various other Hogwarts alums who had landed on this side of the pond.

Finally, Dean Grover Ruthephus led Newton Scamander over to the cluster of graduate students that I was hiding amongst. He introduced Gabby, Croila, and me, but Newt never averted his eyes from my face during the entire conversation. It would have been easy enough to duck behind Croila, as she had accidentally invented an Engorgement Cream for which she had never developed an antidote, but I stood there in plain sight stammering idiotically. I proceeded to make no impression on him whatsoever.

The dating scene is limited for witches in Chester County, New York. The nearest all-wizard school is in New Jersey, and our mixer balls are only twice a year. So when a handsome young bachelor unexpectedly arrives on campus, a lot of heads are turned. Shy girls like me are naturally last in line. We might get one chance to meet him, and we might screw it up. Before long, he'll probably be hopping into open-top automobiles and driving off to large parties on Long Island with girls from Bluenose House. He'll show up to our seminar on Monday with dark rings under his eyes and regretful memories of Butterchampagne and skinny witches in high-hemmed flapper dresses.

Still, despite my pessimism - earned pessimism, for sure - my heart did its thing again when I saw him scanning the room for something (me, I hoped). He made his polite goodnights, explaining that he was shiplagged. It was unmistakable: he lingered on me and then exited through the oil painting.


	2. The Albion Cultural Club

Newt Scamander stepped out of the Checker cab and handed the driver a crisp green twenty dollar bill.

"I don't have change for this!" the taxi driver growled.

Newt waved him away indifferently, "That's okay, keep it."

The driver's eyes opened wide at the bill in his hands. "Big mazuma, mister!"

Newt was careless with how much muggle money he was spending. Dean Ruthephus had sent him an owl with travel expenses, including several hundred dollars in funny green papers. While aboard the _Trans-Atlantis_, Newt passed an idle hour studying the strange bills. The unmoving portraits of wigged white men on them looked for all the world like wizards, and they contained cryptic runes and symbology and messages in Latin. But Newt couldn't make heads or tails of what they were worth.

The wizard took a look around the campus of Slonimb College, lit by a full moon and a few streetlamps. The young school was only a couple of years old, but it contained many beautiful Victorian buildings which had been repurposed for the new institution. A large mansion stood in the center of campus, flanked by stately houses converted into student lodging. He assumed the big central building must be Chesterhome. He had been invited there to meet with some of the English wizards and witches who worked at the Bronxvitch School of Witchcraft, which had been founded alongside - or rather, was concealed within - Slonimb College.

Newt ascended the stairs of the mansion and passed through the columns leading to the entryway. The foyer was lit by yellow electric lighting and was mostly empty except for two schoolgirls reading quietly at a desk.

"Excuse me, how do I get up to the seventh floor?" Newt asked as he approached them.

One of the girls, rather pretty with curly red hair, replied, "Seventh floor? Chesterhome doesn't have a seventh floor."

"Oh, right - terribly sorry." Newt backed away from the Muggle girls, the ginger giving him a queer look. The other girl was quite petite, with long brunette hair, dressed in an oversized sweater, and she gave him no notice. He placed his briefcase on an empty desk and rifled around inside for Dean Ruthephus' letter. He pulled out a tea kettle and turned around to see the redheaded girl still studying his odd behavior.

He put the kettle back in and took out an old black-and-white profile photograph of his girlfriend, Porpetina. The Daguerreotype smiled and arched her back at him. Newt pushed away a sad thought, tucked the photo next to a braided lock of her shock-white hair, and finally found the Dean's letter. It simply instructed him to meet them at the seventh floor meeting room on the evening of September 6th, 1922. Attached as a second page was a crude drawing of a busty demon, her eyes empty. He put the letter and the picture away and wandered down a corridor until he found a door leading to a stairway.

Exhausted from the day's travel, Newt climbed the six flights. At the top was a door labeled "RESTRICTED - ROOFTOP ACCESS." He pulled his wand out of his suit coat and whispered "_Alohamora_."

The door opened to a candle-lit hallway lined with oil paintings. Newt took his dress robes out of his briefcase and pulled them over the suit he had worn for the transatlantic journey. The hallway contained no doors, and the figures in the paintings watched him as he walked past, commenting to each other under their breath about the attractive visitor. At the end of the hall was a massive portrait of a girl about twenty years old. She was beautiful in an otherworldly way, her hair cropped in a fashionable bob. The painting was illuminated by flickering candles. A plaque identified her as "SADIE SLONIMB."

"Good evening, Miss Slonimb," Newt addressed the girl in the painting. "This wouldn't happen to be the seventh floor meeting room, would it?"

"Well, hotsy-totsy!" she replied. "The girls will be glad to see _you_ arrive on campus. And an Englishman too! I'm sure they'll find your accent _so_ distinguished!"

"Yes, well, I believe I'm expected. If you could just tell me where the meeting room is…"

"Settle down, cowboy," she laughed. "You're in the right place. The Albion Cultural Club is gathering in there as we speak. But I do wish you'd join me for a nightcap after you've settled in. I've got a friend Sandollar with a surefire hookup on hooch. What d'ya say? Let's get spifficated."

Newt demurred, "Very kind offer, thank you, but perhaps another evening." The portrait of Sadie Slonimb frowned and opened up for him.

Newt was relieved to see a few dozen witches and wizards in school robes standing around a large, oval, wooden table, most with a goblet or a pewter coupe in hand. An elderly, clean-shaven wizard rushed up to greet him, shaking his hand and offering a him a drink.

"Ah, so there _are_ libations to be found in the States," Newt remarked to the old wizard. "Professor Ruthephus, I presume."

"Please, please, it's just Grover," he replied.

Newt raised his eyebrows at the suggestion that he address the Dean of Magic by his first name.

"We're honored that you will be joining our operation here for the fall term," he continued. The Dean's English accent had some American vowel sounds creeping in from years of living stateside. A house-elf hobbled into view and handed Newt a goblet of wine and then quickly vanished from sight. "Come, come meet some of the Bronxvitch faculty."

Newton Scamander, his head clogged with the names of beasts and faeries from all over the world, nonetheless struggled tell various people apart. Ruthephus barraged him with one introduction after another, and he knew he would be hopeless to remember the name of Professor Inglewood, the Herbology fellow, or which of the conjoined twins Professor Chao and Professor Chao taught Arithmantic Theory and which taught Numerologic Economics. At least the Bio-Potions Master, Professor Rowentree, would be hard to forget: a one-foot-tall Irishman who was almost certainly half-leprechaun.

Ruthephus guided Newt over to a group of younger witches, one of which struck the traveler as especially lovely - a slender, black-haired girl with heavy eye-shadow and a permanent frown. He didn't quite catch the names of the other graduate students, but he made an effort to memorize the name of Cass Hitchens.

"Cass here is doing some very exciting research on Preemptive Dark Arts Prevention," cooed the Dean of Magic.

"Is that so?" Newt asked her.

"Oh, yes, well, I'm not sure how exciting it is, you know, to study latent dark tendencies before they start to develope into evil, but, uh, Bronxvitch has granted me a very generous fellowship, and I'm honored to be here."

"You're a Londoner?" Newt noticed her accent. "What year were you in Hogwarts? Did you study Defence Against the Dark Arts with Professor Yaxley?"

"Yes, sorry, I mean, no. I didn't attend Hogwarts."

"Really? Did you study abroad? Beauxbatons?"

"No, I was homeschooled," she explained. She bowed her head as if she had said something wrong. Newt was curious, but, before he could engage her further, Dean Ruthephus had pulled him over to meet a few ghosts.

"Newt Scamander! Your reputation precedes you!" bellowed a hairy, barrel-chested American who pushed right through the ghosts and grabbed Newt's hand with a bone-crushing grasp.

"This is Professor Garfungal Washingbeard," Ruthephus said. "Our resident lecturer on Magical Creatures, and the world's preeminent expert on Appalachian Magizoology."

"Yes, of course," Newt rescued his hand from the burly American's grip. "I've read your work on Cherokee Thunderbirds. At five thousand pages, it was quite… exhaustive."

"We have so much to discuss!" said Washingbeard. He took a lazy swig from his goblet and black wine dripped down his thickly bearded face. The Professor gave a slovenly impression, with gross white stains all over his cloak. "I've heard that your forthcoming compendium of magical creatures keeps getting longer and longer. You know, Augustus Worme is a good friend of mine. When can we expect the publication of… what will it be called again?"

"The working title is _Catalog of Terrible Magical Monsters of the Known World: Their Environs, Diets, and Other Useful Information, Including Locations_."

"Catchy," said Washingbeard. He pulled Newt and Dean Ruthephus in conspiratorially and lowered his voice. "Now, Newt old boy, we all know why you're _really_ here. If you're free tomorrow, please stop by my office and I'll fill you in with everything we've learned about the Succubeast."

"Shh, shh!" Ruthephus warned. "Not here, Garfungal."

"Tomorrow sounds perfect," said Newt. "I'm afraid it's been quite a long day for me. I'm beginning to wonder where my accommodations are…"

"Of course, my friend," said Dean Ruthephus, steering him away from the large Magical Creatures instructor and heading over back towards the entrance. He whispered in Newt's ear, "My apologies, he wouldn't normally be invited to the Albion Cultural Club meetings - it's strictly for Hogwarts grads and other expatriates, you see - but Garfungal insisted on being here at your arrival."

"It's quite alright." Newt set down his untouched wine goblet and smiled around the room at the welcoming reception. He noticed the pretty girl called Cass Hitchens, her face lit from beneath by the oil-lamps, and wondered if she would be in any of his seminars.

He apologized to the faculty members who were bidding him goodnight. "I had to get up rather early this morning to board the _Trans-Atlantis_ and I believe Greenwich time is set to four or five hours later than it is here."

Professor Ruthephus stepped out into the corridor with portrait of Sadie Slonimb swung closed. "Ready for that nightcap, cowboy?" she asked him.

"You'll be lodging right here in Chesterhome," said the Dean of Magic. "This remarkable estate was built by Terdley Slonimb with the fortune he made from his Manhattan department stores. We've, uh, accentuated it a bit here and there, adding a few floors and some secret classrooms, of course. Your chambers are right over here on the left." They turned down a corridor which had not been visible when Newt first walked up the hall. "Suite 7a is one of the nicest rooms on campus, reserved for distinguished guests and visiting scholars like yourself. I trust you'll find everything you need. Unfortunately, it does not have its own private lavatory, but the seventh floor bathrooms are quite nice and just at the end of the hall. You'll need this key."

"Thank you for your hospitality," said Newt. "I'm sure I'll be quite comfortable here."


	3. The Seventh Floor Bathroom

The bathroom key was in the shape of a raccoon skull. The double doors to Newt's new chambers slid open, unlike anything he had known in the English-speaking world. They reminded him of shoji sliding doors he'd used while he was hunting Kappas in Japan, two summers ago. Newt and Dean Ruthephus walked into the room.

"You'll find it has a nice view of campus, in the daytime," said the old Dean. The spacious central room had enormous bay windows from which they could see the campus mall and its surrounding houses. The streetlamps outside revealed a few college girls walking back to their dorms. Headlights from an automobile moved slowly up the main drag.

"Well, goodnight, Dean," said Newt. "Thanks for everything."

Ruthephus put his arm around the Magizoologist. "Listen, Newt. Remember, you're here to help us research the Succubeast. I am well aware that many of the witches at Bronxvitch are easy to look at. Most of our advanced Bio-Potions students are as competent at concocting a love potion as the seventh-years back at Hogwarts. I am just advising you, don't let the distractions of an all-witches school hinder your research."

"Right," replied Newt, gazing out the large bay windows. "Dean, I am beyond fatigued."

"Of course," said Ruthephus, letting go of Newt's shoulders. "And please call me Grover. We Hufflepuffs have to stick together in the new world!"

"_Those patient Hufflepuffs are true / And unafraid of toil!_" Newt sang back to him.

The Dean of Magic slid the doors closed after him. Newt laid his briefcase on the couch and shed his dress robes. Digging out his traveling kettle from the briefcase, he poured a hot cup of tea.

He was overtired, but he had to write down a few thoughts before he found the bed. He placed the drawing of the Succubeast down on the coffee table and stared at it. It was clearly sketched by Garfungal Washingbeard, as Newt was familiar with his style from reading that interminable book on Thunderbirds. The bosom on the monster was larger than any Veela's. She was dead-eyed and ghostlike, but impossible to look away from, and, in a way, she reminded Newt of his lost girlfriend Porpetina. They had similar voluptuous figures, even if the monster's proportions were more exaggerated.

Newt took out his quill and scribbled his reflections on Ruthephus, Washingbeard, and of the horrors of changing trains at Penn Station.

Next, Newt found his pipe in the briefcase. As he was about to light it, a house-elf emerged and placed an ashtray on the coffee table.

Newt waved him away, "You can relocate."

"Onesimus proud to serve such a distinguished traveling scholar," said the elf, bowing low.

He ignored him and the house-elf disappeared. Newt ashed his pipe in the ashtray.

Finishing his tea, Newt felt a need to visit the water closet, but he held it in for a few minutes.

He unpacked some more items from his briefcase. He took out an Erumpent Horn, fumbled and almost dropped it. "Careful there," he told himself, and placed the horn carefully on the bar counter. He pulled out his nightgown and changed into long, lacy bed clothes. Forgetting that it was not as late as it felt, he ventured back out into the seventh floor corridor to find the bathrooms.

He went to the narrow door at the end of the hallway and opened it with the raccoon skull key.

"Newton, my love, is that you?" came an eerily familiar voice.

"Porpetina?" he gasped, stirring out of his drowsiness. "How can it be?"

A beautiful white-haired woman approached him, nude from head to toe. "Newton, I found you!" she cried.

Newt's jaw dropped and he froze in horror. "What... what are you doing here?" he stammered. His beloved Porpetina, missing these last three years, was now completely flat-chested, not even her nipples remained. Her formerly glorious bosom was simply gone, replaced by smooth skin without a single hint of a bump. "Your... your tits... so it's true...?"

"Aren't you glad to see me?" the naked woman asked, slowly coming closer. "You still love me, even without my breasts, don't you?"

"Of... of course I do, my darling," Newt shook his head in confusion.

"Come to me my love," she beckoned. "It can be like it was..." She was almost close enough that he could embrace her, but he kept feeling the desire to recoil from his old lover. She reached out to touch him and Newt finally came to his senses.

"Riddikulus!" He shouted, grabbing for the wand in his nightgown. The flat-chested travesty of Porpetina shriveled into a haggish old lady and then into a skeleton, the bones crumbling onto the floor. A girl screamed. Newt spun around and pointed his wand at the narrow door, where Cass Hitchens was standing watching.


	4. Cass (ii)

Seeing someone else's Boggart can reveal a lot about a person. I didn't know how to interpret what I had seen in the seventh floor bathrooms. The visiting scholar had been talking to a lady - a naked and welcoming lady, at that - as if she was a lover who had been horribly disfigured. The white-haired nude had been strikingly beautiful – a bit of a mannish body, for sure, but still gorgeous by anyone's standards. I hadn't caught everything Newt had said to her before he realized she was just a Boggart. I had been so surprised to catch him in his absurd frilly nightgown alone with an unclothed woman.

When he saw me, I was afraid he was going to curse me with his wand, but he lowered it. "Miss Hitchens, it's just you," he sounded relieved.

"I'm sorry," I replied. "Too much wine at the party – I just needed to use the little girl's room."

"It's fine," he said, clearly embarrassed. "It appears a long day of traveling has caused me to put my guard down. You won't go gossiping that the world-trekking Magizoologist was fooled by a common Boggart, will you?"

"My lips are sealed," I promised, and we exchanged a silent glance.

"Well, then," he said. "I still do have to go to the loo, and then I _really_ must catch up on some sleep. I trust I'll be seeing you around campus."

"Hopefully. I'm considering signing up for your seminar. Goodnight, Mr. Scamander."

"Goodnight, Miss Hitchens."

I used a stall and then returned to the meeting room, where the Albion Cultural Club was breaking up. I went over to Gabby and Croila. "Are you alright?" Gabby asked. "You look as though you've seen a ghost."

I glanced over at the Chesterhome ghosts milling around the snacks table. "Should we be getting back to Hilzegaard House?" I asked.

"Already?" Gabby asked. "The night is young, Cassie! Let's get some Butterbeers at the Griffon Arms."

"No, I have thousands of pages to read. You go on ahead if you like." Gabby was a short and stout witch with a shaved head and striking lilac eyes. She was working on a thesis about Witch Rights in Colonial America, and I had no idea how she still got top marks considering that she went out just about every night. Gabby and Croila and I exited through the portrait of the founder's daughter and went downstairs. We passed a few Slow-Nimrods, as we called them, reading their Muggle textbooks in the foyer.

"You sure you don't want another drink?" Croila asked me kindly. Croila was one of the fattest witches I had ever known, the result of her Engorgement research with Professor Rowentree. I was tempted to come out with them, but I was still a little shaken up by what I had seen in the lavatory. I waved goodbye and started walking up the road towards Hilzegaard House, which was about a mile off campus. Apparition wasn't possible on Slonimb College campus, so I had to tread the whole way by foot.

Of the three witch dormitories at Bronxvitch, the Hilzegaard girls got the worst deal. Whereas Bluenose House was a beautiful old mansion near the center of campus, and Titbird House was built deep underground in a series of abandoned subway tunnels, Hilzegaard was an ugly, modern concrete building. It was dirty white, twenty stories high, and most of the graduate students on fellowships inevitably were sorted into Hilzegaard. It was also the most diverse house, being the most urban, and there were even several dark-skinned witches from Harlem living next door to me. (This was at a time when most colleges in America, even schools of magic, were all-white. Bronxvitch was progressive even from its founding.)

As I walked up the road, my thoughts kept returning again and again to the beautiful woman in the bathroom. Boggarts show us our greatest fears. Newt Scamander was a man who had braved XXXXX-class monsters across five continents, and yet I saw him shaking in his nightgown at the sight of a naked lady. I wondered what sort of sexual issues he might have, and what experiences might have led him to be so scared of an undressed female.

When I first met him at the club meeting, I had tripped over my words and made a fool of myself. But there was no denying there was some small connection when we said goodnight in the bathroom. Maybe a part of him was glad that I had seen him vulnerable, that I had stumbled in on a deviant secret that he had been longing for someone to discover. Maybe I was overthinking things like always.

The entryway to Hilzegaard House had a desk with a security guard, an older black gentleman named Mr. Nelson. He was a Squib and was never seen without a pearly smile.

"Good evening, Miss Cass," he said. "You have an owl from England."

A small brown owl fluttered over to me, circling around my head a few times and finally dropping a rolled-up parchment out of its talons onto Mr. Nelson's desk.

I unrolled the letter and started reading.

"Dearest Cassiopeia,

I trust you're settling in comfortably to your second year of postgraduate studies. Your Uncle Bob and I are so proud of you. Although, we still have trouble explaining exactly what it is that you're studying to Bob's family. We've started just telling them you're pursuing a masters in Psychology. They wonder, if you wanted to be a shrink, why do you have to go all the way over to New York!? I hope Dean Ruthephus is more competent of an administrator than they have at Hogwarts these days. Phineas Nigellus is beginning to show his age and has been making dozens of demented decisions. He's been replacing many of the finest teachers with Slytherins, even trying to oust Albus as Professor of Transfiguration. Don't worry, I saw to it that _that_ won't happen. I sent my dearly estranged brother a howler threatening to expose some of _his_ dirty old secrets if he so much as _considers_ replacing Albus. I hope he got that howler while he was sitting at the head table! Ha! Can you imagine the look on his face? Anyway, we know you're busy and working too hard, but do send us news when you can. Do you need any Galleons?

"Always,

"Aunt Isla (and Uncle Bob)"

The name Albus in her letter caused my heart to leap. It was my Aunt's eccentric friend who had, on several occasions, dropped by our flat to check up on my progress over the years, and the reason I was at Bronxvitch now. Having a real Hogwarts Professor encouraging my studies, secretly arranging for me to take my O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s, and even sending me books, had meant so much to me. If the Headmaster had found out Professor Dumbledore was aiding me or his sister, it surely would have cost him his job. It was Phineas Nigellus, of course, who had barred my admission to Hogwarts in the first place. I'll never forget the day when Albus, wearing some of the most flamboyant purple robes I had ever seen, showed up at my house with brochures for the newly opening Bronxvitch School of Witchcraft, saying that he truly believed I had what it took to get into their Masters of Magic program.

I nodded goodnight to Mr. Nelson and walked through a concrete wall into a secret elevator. The lift took me up to the twentieth floor. Sarah Jane Jackson and Thelonia Shacklebolt, the two witches from Harlem, were out talking in the hallway.

"How was your little English Accent club, girl?" asked Sarah Jane, and launched into an offensive impression: "Didja ate crumpets?"

Thelonia burst out laughing. "Haffa spotta tay?"

"It was fine," I sighed. "I met the new visiting scholar."

"Ooh, Newt Scamander!?" asked Sarah Jane.

"Who's that?" asked Thelonia.

"Oh, you _must_ read his article on Chizpurfle removal from domestic Augureys! It was in the August issue of the _New Enchanter_." Sarah Jane was studying Magic Veterinary Remedies under Professor Washingbeard and was helping him raise a Nutrisore, so of course she had read Scamander's work.

"I don't have time for extracurricular reading," I complained. "I've got litetally seven hundred feet of parchment to write for Professor Forrest-Wood, and Professor Bumher wants me to read all of the _Encyclopædia of Melancholy Moods_ by Friday! Have you seen how long that book is?" I went into my room and brought back out the giant Volume 1 which was six times longer than it was tall.

"That's a lot of melancholy moods," Thelonia said.

"This book makes you depressed just by being in the same room with it."

"So what was Scamander like?" Sarah Jane steered the subject back to the visiting scholar.

"He's actually… kind of hot."

"Oh, really?" she purred.

"Yeah. After last semester's visiting scholar - that old Texan Occlumency expert - I wasn't expecting this year's to be so young and good-looking. I thought all of Grover's friends were ancient and wrinkly."

"What does he look like?"

"Well, he has a thin moustache, like in the movies, and a round, boyish face. He was wearing these perfectly tailored dress robes. Oh, god, he asked me who I had studied under at Hogwarts, and I made a fool out of myself by rambling and saying nothing." I had promised Newt not to talk about the Boggart.

"Sounds like you've got a bit of a thing for this Chizpurfle-infested hottie," said Thelonia.

"Do I?" I realized Thelonia was right. I had barely talked to him twice, but I had already developed a serious schoolgirl crush on Newt Scamander.

Thelonia's face grew shadowy and her eyes rolled up, her voice suddenly echoing, "_Cassiopeia… Your fate is written… The future for you contains sweaty bedsheets and musky man-scents. Cassiopeia… You are going to get laaaaaaaid!"_

"I've got to study," I replied, closing the door to my room. I took out my quill and started to write my essay for Professor Forrest-Wood. But I was so distracted I eventually gave up and pulled out a fresh piece of parchment.

"Dear Aunt Isla," I wrote.

"Thank you for the letter. I miss you and Bob dearly. There's a visiting scholar here from the Ministry of Magic named Newt Scamander. Do you know anything about him? Phineas Nigellus Black can suck a Troll toe.

"Love you,

"Cassiopeia _Hitchens_," and I underlined my last name three times.

The rest of the week went by uneventfully, and I didn't see Newt again until Saturday. I was walking into campus for breakfast when I caught him talking to an attractive Muggle girl on the lawn and for all the world it looked like he was flirting with her!


	5. Terdley Slonimb

Three days after his arrival, Newt had adjusted to the time change. He woke up at 9am to sun streaming in through the bay windows of Chesterhome's Suite 7a. Looking outside, he saw schoolgirls walking toward the dining hall. Because the wizarding school shared its grounds with a non-magical college, many students and professors did not wear traditional school robes, as they had to frequently walk between buildings in public. This did not stop the witches from dressing in all manner of eccentric, mismatched outfits in their attempt to blend in and/or express themselves. The Muggle girls - or Slow-Nimrods as the less kind at Bronxvitch called them - for their part, also dressed pretty wildly for non-magical people. Slonimb College attracted many bohemian, artsy students. It was sometimes hard to for Newt to tell who was a witch and who wasn't.

The sliding doors opened a crack to allow a speckled owl to swoop in, dropping off the weekend edition of the Daily 'Vitch Witch. The student newspaper advertised tryouts for the school's AAA League Tenditch team and listed the dates of the fall matches. There was a colorized photograph of a blonde witch in green-and-white striped sporting robes, the uniform clinging tightly to her figure. She rode a broomstick and was swinging a large racket.

Professor Washingbeard had been pestering Newt for days to stop by his office underground in Titbird House and talk to him about the Succubeast. But Newt mostly stayed in his chambers, reviewing his notes and revising the various messy drafts of _Catalog of Terrible Magical Monsters of the Known World: Their Environs, Diets, and Other Useful Information, Including Locations_.

Feeling he needed some sunshine, he decided to go out and get the meeting with Washingbeard out of the way. The house-elf Onesimus brought in Newt's black leather boots freshly shined. The Magizoologist dressed in a stylish, black three-piece corduroy suit with white leather elbow pads. He tucked his wand into his pocket, packed his kettle back into his briefcase, and ventured out of Chesterhome onto the campus grounds.

It was a hot day, and the green grass on the mall was littered with students enjoying the late summer weather. As a healthy young man who had not seen his girlfriend in three years, Newt had trouble averting his eyes from some of the shapely girls on the lawn. He felt like a dark wizard in Borgin and Burkes' shop. Newt noticed the curly redheaded girl he had first talked to when he arrived at Chesterhome. She was wearing one of the shortest skirts Newt had ever seen, reposing on a blanket and eating strawberries. Next to her was her brunette friend. Newt hadn't taken any notice of the friend before, when she had been wearing a baggy sweater on Wednesday night, but now he couldn't take his eyes off of her. Her curves spilled out of a low-cut dress. She wore lavender stockings on her short legs, and she had perfect dimples on both cheeks that showed when she was laughed at the ginger's jokes. There weren't a lot of Jews amongst the magical community in England, so this to Newt seemed like an entirely new species of babe.

He found himself scheming for a reason to talk to her, so he went over and asked the girls where he might find the entrance to Titbird House.

"What the hell is Titbird House?" asked the redhead.

"I thought it was one of the dormitories," Newt replied, not realizing just how little many of the Slonimb students knew about the witching school in their midst.

The busty brunette sat up. "Look, mister, that's the second time this week you've asked us where to find someplace that doesn't exist. Are you sure you're at the right school?"

"Ha, well, maybe not," Newt tried to play it off with charm. "But I wouldn't want to be anywhere else."

"What is it exactly you're doing at an all-girls school, anyway?" asked the redhead.

"Oh, I'm a visiting scholar," he explained.

"Applesauce!"

"Yeah, applesauce," agreed the brunette. "If you're a scholar, what's your field of study?"

Newt didn't want to lie, but he also couldn't tell the muggles what he did. "Have you heard of cryptozoology?" he asked.

"No," said the redhead.

"It's mythology, right? Isn't it the study of fantastic beasts?" asked her friend.

"Exactly, and I like the way you phrased that."

"So, will you be giving any talks on cryptozoology?" She had dropped the defensive posture, and suddenly seemed interested in what Newt had to say. He took that as an invitation to sit down next to her on the blanket. The redhead grimaced.

"I am giving a seminar starting next week, but unfortunately, it's only for a select group of graduate students. You're an undergrad, I take it."

"Yeah, I'm a sophomore," she smiled. She held out her hand limply and he took it. "Deborah, or just Deb if you're lazy."

"I'm Newt," said Newt.

"And I'm outta here," said the redhead, standing up. "23 Skidoo."

"Bye, Karen," laughed Deborah. "I'll meet up with you at the dining hall." She turned on her side to face him and Newt watched the pillowy shapes under her dress move with the gravity. "So, there's no way for you to sneak me into your cryptozoological seminar?"

"They're very strict about those who's allowed to attend, I'm afraid," he said. "But I'm happy to talk to you about my studies one-on-one if you're interested."

"Sort of like a private lesson?" she asked, reaching out and touching his shoulder. Newt felt goosebumps on his neck. This Muggle girl was now being openly flirtatious and he didn't know what to do about it.

"Sure, I could arrange a private lesson. Or, you know, just casually over drinks."

Deborah raised her eyebrows and sat up a little. "Drinks? Can you get giggle water?"

"You mean alcohol? I believe I can procure some."

"Seriously? Karen was supposed to get some hooch from her friend Dahlia before we went down to this party in Greenwich Village tonight, but Dahlia's friend Molly fell sick with the flu and now we're bone dry!"

Newt was taken aback. "Well, I'm not sure the Slonimb administrators would like it if I was selling illegal booze to undergrads. But, if you'd like to join me sometime for a libation, it could be arranged."

"You got anywhere to be?" she asked.

"Right now? Well, as a matter of fact, I was supposed to be meeting up with Professor Washingbeard."

Deborah chuckled. "Washingbeard? Applesauce! There's no one by that name here. Trust me, it's a small school, I would know. Are you _sure_ you're in the right place?"

"I've never been more sure," he replied. "Do you know what? My meeting with Professor Applesauce can wait. Let's get that drink."

Newt held out his hand and helped the girl stand up. He realized how much taller he was than her, the curvy sophomore standing a little under five feet. She rolled up the blanket and they started walking across the grass.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"I don't know, do you need to get the supplies?"

Newt patted his briefcase. "Oh, I have whatever giggly water you want right in here."

"Wow, you are a cool operator. In that case, let's just have a drink in my room. It's such a beautiful day, it's too bad we can't imbibe out here on the lawn like people used to do. This country's laws are horrible, aren't they? Next thing you know, they'll be making sex illegal!" Deborah gave Newt a knowing glance. "I live up here in Terdley Slonimb."

They approached a large dormitory that bordered the grassy mall.

"Terdley Slonimb – that's the name of the founder, right?"

"That's right, and the name of my dorm."

"This school is only two years old. Mr. Slonimb, is he still around?"

"Oh, he's alive," said Deborah. "He founded the college for his daughter Sadie, but she died in the first year it was open. And he was so depressed that he moved to Mexico and took most of the endowment with him."

They entered the building and went down the first floor hallway. A few other girls gave Deborah a look at the handsome older man she was inviting into the dorm. She ignored them.

"How did she die?" Newt asked.

"Oh, she was a party girl. Died in an automobile accident, terribly tragic. A lot of the upperclassmen knew her. It really rocked the school."

Deborah unlocked the door to her room. It was a small space with one single bed and a desk, but it had a nice window with a view of the lawn. "I lucked out and got a single," she explained. Newt threw his briefcase and his suit coat down onto the end of the bed.

"What's your poison?" Newt asked her.

"What do you got? I'd take panther piss if you have it."

"I don't have that. But what's your favorite?"

"Well, I just adore bubbly wine. But it's _so_ hard to find these days."

Newt pulled his kettle out of the briefcase. Deborah looked crestfallen. "Tea? I hate that noodle juice. I should have expected that, bringing a Limey back to my room."

Newt ignored the slur and asked, "Do you have any glassware?" Deborah went to her closet and took out two glass coupes. The wizard turned a small dial on the side of the kettle to "French Champagne" and poured cold bubbling liquid into Deborah's glass.

"Whoa, how did you do that? That's some kettle you've got there. Say, if you could market those, you'd make a fortune!"

Newt poured himself another glass and clinked his against hers. "You Americans, always thinking about how to make money off of something. Cheers."

The petite brunette swallowed the contents of the coupe in one gulp. Newt laughed and refilled it. "You'd better slow down. It is still morning."

"Sorry, I've just been so _damned_ thirsty," she moved in closer to where the tall man was standing. "And I was trying to build up the confidence to kiss you."

Newt didn't have to be asked twice. He leant down and pressed his lips to hers. "You know, we only just met fifteen minutes ago."

"I don't care," she replied, kissing him harder and putting his hand on her back. "I've resolved this year to be more free-spirited."

Before long, they had fallen onto the bed and were making out passionately. Newt came up for air and a sip of champagne. "You are remarkably lovely," he said.

"Oh, stop, you," she replied. He touched his soft mouth to the dimple in her cheek, and then kissed lightly down to her neck. She let out a small moan and kissed him back. His thin moustache tickled her upper lip a little. She could feel a large bulge in his trousers against her side, and she pressed back against him harder.

Newt's hands began to wander from her back around the side to the front of her dress. Worried that he was moving too fast on a girl he had literally just met, he stopped himself and put his arm down. "No, it's alright," she whispered, bringing his fingers back up to her chest. "I'm glad you like them."

"Like them?" he said softly. "They must be some of the most remarkable bosoms I have ever come across, and I've been on five continents." He rubbed them gently through her cotton dress.

"You charmer," she said. "With that accent you could talk the First Lady out of her bloomers." And with that she pulled down her top and let him experience her naked glory. They seemed even larger out in the open, full but still perky, with small pink nipples. He leaned down and kissed her left tit while massaging the right one.

"I've never seen a chest this ample on a girl so small," he said.

"My mother thinks its my Ashkenazi heritage kicking in, late in the game. They only developed in the past year."

"Oh really?" Newt said.

"Yeah. When I arrived last year, I was practically a stick. But, you know, the Freshman Fifteen!"

"What's that?" asked Newt.

"Oh, you've never heard that? It's common to gain about fifteen pounds when your first year of college. With me, it was all in the bubs. It's a shame, too, because being voluptuous is way out-of-fashion right now."

"Really? How can breasts go out of fashion?"

"You haven't seen the magazines? I can't fit into any of those flapper dresses. All the girls at the fashionable parties are rail thin and prefer boyish haircuts. I suppose I was just born in the wrong time."

The wizard pushed her long brown hair behind her ear and kissed her on the lips again. "Well, I love your curves. Don't go comparing yourself to still photographs in magazines. You're gorgeous."

All of a sudden, the five-foot beauty stood up and took a deep breath. "Newt, pour me another drink," she demanded. He refilled her coupe and Deborah stood there in the middle of the small room with her dress pulled down to her naval. The curvaceous girl again drank it down in one swallow and then announced, "I've been giving this a lot of thought, and I think that we should be lovers. I know we've only just met, but I've made up my mind."

"Well, then," laughed the handsome Magizoologist, "it seems like there's no talking you out of it."

"I'm not done," she continued. "There are so few eligible men in Chester County, and I admit that I have been lonesome. Last year, I went on dates with this guy named Chad from Dullpoint for _five_ months, and we never did _anything_, and then he broke it off before the summer to return to his skinny old girlfriend in _Rhode Island_. Now I find myself alone in my room with… with an amazing and captivating scholar, and I think I might just regret it for the rest of my little life if I don't do something. I'm an adult woman and it's the jazz age and, damn it, I'm going to have some fun."

Newt gave her a slow clap and an approving frown. "Cheers to that," he said, refilling his own glass. He thought to himself, _I've seen beasts in heat before and it is never wise to deny them what they want_. Newt stood up and joined her in the center of the room. He unbuttoned his black vest and Deborah, impatient, started on the buttons of his collared shirt. His chest was strong and covered in fair hair, and he had a slight musky smell like he had just come back from a safari. She unbuckled his trousers and pulled down his britches. His manhood rose in the room, hard and long and thick.

As the brunette kneeled down and took him into her mouth, Newt's eyes rolled up to the ceiling and he reflected on his good luck. He had only been in America three days and already a stunning young woman was seducing him.

They laid back on the bed together, and Deborah removed the rest of her dress. Her lavender stockings were attached to her bloomers with little elastic suspenders. "What's all this then?" asked Newt, fumbling with the contraption.

Deborah laughed. "That's a garter belt. They're all the rage. Let me help you with that." She undid the buttons and they pulled off her stockings. Her legs were short but thin and she turned downward to reveal a curvaceous rear.

"Take me like this," she insisted in a hushed tone, lifting up her ass and back so that her breasts hung down and lightly brushed the sheets. Newt sat up on his knees and she helped guide him between her legs. He found her warm, wet area and pushed into it.

"Oh, Newt," she cried. "Ride me like a beast!"

"Fantastic!" he called back.

An hour later they were laying side by side, and he was answering her questions about the Kelpies of various Scottish lakes. "Butt me!" she said.

"I'm sorry, didn't we just do that?" he asked.

"No! Butt me. Do you have a fag, a cigarette!?"

"Oh, no, I'm sorry. I'm afraid, all I have is my pipe."

"Say, you're a queer dandy. You wouldn't happen to know anyone who could get us some of those jazz cigarettes, would you?"

"I'm not sure what that is, but if I come across any, I'll let you know."

Deborah ran her hand down his chest. "I needed that," she admitted.

"I believe I did too," Newt said.

"There's no one else in your life right now?"

Newt closed his eyes and saw the horrible image of the Boggart masquerading as the breastless Porpetina. He opened his eyes again and replied, "No one that I know where to find."

"Well, it's such a beautiful day," Deborah said. "What say we go down to the dining hall and look for my friend Karen? I just drank three glasses of champagne on an empty stomach!"

"Thank you for the invitation, Deb, but I really should keep my appointment with Washingbeard."

She giggled. "Oh, so you weren't making that up? There really is a Professor Washingbeard?"

Newt sat up, worried for a moment. He had let quite a few details about the witches' school slip to this Muggle student, not to mention the other ways he had slipped it to her. She had seen him use his traveling kettle and listened to him ramble on about Kelpies. They got up and got dressed, and then Newt turned to the petite beauty and took out his wand.

"Hey, what is that, a toy wizard's wand?" she asked.

"_Obliviate!_" he said

She blinked a few times and then sat back down on the bed. "Huh, you know, on second thought, I'm not very hungry. That champagne did go to my head. You go on ahead, Franklin - I'm going to take a nap." Deborah collapsed on her pillow and was immediately asleep.


	6. The Sewer Rat

Newt let himself out of her room, feeling a little dirty about the Memory Charm. He could have easily erased her entire recollection of what happened, but that felt pretty unethical. Plus, it was too good to be forgotten. However, he didn't want to jeopardize his stay there by letting a Muggle student know too much, so he merely tweaked a few things inside her head. Newt walked by a few girls in the hall who gave him a knowing glance, as a lone male in the girls' dormitory.

In the center of the campus mall was a small cafe. Late on a hot Saturday afternoon, it was teeming with schoolgirls reading and drinking coffee. Newt turned a few heads walking in, looking dashing in his black corduroy three-piece. Having already made love to one college girl that morning, he felt strangely confident, like the world was his oyster. He marched right up to the cafe counter and asked for the bathroom key.

"I'm sorry, the men's bathroom is out of order," said the girl behind the counter.

"Well, then, would it be any trouble to use the woman's?" he asked.

"Are you clean?"

"The hippogriff flies tonight," he replied. She handed him the key and he unlocked the door to the women's bathroom. He stood in the toilet bowl and pulled the flush chord, disappearing down the drain in the same manner as one of the entrances to the Ministry of Magic.

He landed in a sewery puddle in an underground tunnel. He pulled himself out of the water, pointed his wand at his wet suit and shouted, "_Ventus!_"

There was no sign of students or anything resembling a girl's dormitory. A rat scurried past him. Newt wondered for a moment if he had used the correct passage. Defunct subway tracks stretched into the tunnel as far as he could see in both directions. "_Lumos!_" he called, and a light came out of his wand. "Hello?"

The only reply was his own echo. He chose a direction at random and started walking up the tracks. He said outloud to himself, "If this is Titbird, it's a real dump."

In the distance, there was a rumbling sound. It began to grow louder quickly, and he realized to his horror that a subway train was coming toward him. The tunnel was quite narrow, and there would not be room on the ledge paralleling the tracks to get out of its way. He tried to disapparate but was unable. Turning around, he saw a bright light barreling toward him. He screamed and fell to the ground. An icy chill went through his bones as the ghost train passed right through him. He opened his eyes and saw spectral commuters in 19th century outfits looking tired and irritated that they were several decades late for work. The ghost train passed and Newt stood up, watching it disappear down the tunnel. He exhaled and kept walking.

The rat that had run by him earlier returned and stood up on its hind legs, sniffing around. It squeaked. "You wouldn't happen to know how to get to Titbird House?" Newt addressed the rodent. It ran ahead and, for lack of a better plan, he followed it.

As he walked up the tracks, the tunnel grew larger and larger. Several other tunnels branched out, and he followed the rat through one turn and then another. "What is this, a maze?" he asked. The rat squealed back.

After fifteen minutes of walking, the rat disappeared into a drain. He looked up and down the tunnel, but there was nothing but sewer. "Great, I've just followed a rat to who-knows-where!" He turned around again and saw a dozen girls in witch's robes sitting around a common room table, a warm fire in the stone fireplace. A tall, attractive blonde girl rushed up to him and shook his hand.

She addressed him in a Boston accent, "Mr. Scamander! Look, Mildred, it's Newt Scamander! What are you doing in Titbird House? You look like you could use a towel." The witch took a teacup from Mildred, a buxom Freshman, and transfigured it into a beach towel. Newt dried off his black suit.

"What kind of a house entrance is that?" Newt said, flabbergasted. "I just walked a mile! I always thought it was absurd that Ravenclaws had to answer a riddle - because, what if they don't know the riddle? - but that was just gruelling and gross!"

The witches tittered. The blonde one answered, "Oh, Titbird House likes to play tricks with newcomers, just to test them. I promise you, if you come back, it won't take so long. Most guests don't think to follow a rat."

"I'm here to see Professor Washingbeard," explained Newt. "He should be expecting me."

"Yes, Garfungal's in his office." Newt still wasn't used to students calling their professors by their first names. He followed the blonde witch down another sewer tunnel. "By they way, I'm Brook Lynam, third year undergrad. We're all real excited to have you here this semester. I've read just about all of your articles!"

"Oh, do you study Magizoology?" Newt asked.

"I'm still undecided. It's either that or Creative Spell Writing. I love Garfungal's lectures, but I could also see myself just, like, working in a speakeasy and trying to write spells on the side. I also play Tenditch, but everyone knows there's no Galleons in Witch's Tenditch."

Newt recognized her, "Oh, you were on the front page of the _Daily_ '_Vitch Bitch_ this morning."

"That's right, I'm the Captain. I do hope you'll come to our matches!"

"Is that a Boston accent? Why did you decide to come here instead of Salem Academy?"

She smiled. "Oh, my parents are Muggles, so it was an easy cover to say I was going to Slonimb College. I transferred from Radcliffe when Bronxvitch opened. Plus, there's a lot of really copacetic witches here. It's more my scene."

"Terrific," said Newt.

"Here we are," she said in front of a ten-foot-wide round sewer grate. The storm drain swung open. Newt thanked the blonde Titbird girl and climbed through the circular entrance. The Magical Creatures lecturer was sitting behind a large desk. He was drinking black coffee, eating a bagel, crumbs in his beard and more white stains on his cloak, presumably from the cream cheese.

"Newt, old boy!" called Professor Washingbeard, standing up and dropping the bagel. "You're three days late!" The American's office was spacious, lit by candelabras, and decorated like a hoarder, with old trunks piled on top of each other. Framed black-and-white photographs of magical creatures cluttered up the stone walls, and Newt recognized a few of them as his own. "As you can see, I'm a fan of your work," said the thick-bearded Professor, tapping his wand on a picture of a Manticore. The human-faced beast roared silently at them.

Newt sat down on a plush divan, its fabric blotched with more gross stains. "Let's get right to it. What exactly is this Succubeast?"

Washingbeard sat down next to him, a little too close. "Well, that's what's strange. No one really knows. Most of her victims have been in Manhattan."

"So she's been murdering New Yorkers for how long?"

"Oh, no, not murdered! All of her victims still live. But they'll never be the same again. The first definitive case was in the fall of 1921." Washingbeard opened a folder and dropped a photograph on the table. It showed a young man lying in a bed, his eyes empty. "This is Emil Impuissant, a French Muggle who had just arrived in New York looking for work. His statement to the NYPD described her as - here, I have the exact quote - '_a 'orrible monstre who cam' to me in mah sleep and I could not rrrresist_.'"

"How is Mr. Impuissant now?" Newt asked.

"Not well. Let's just say, he won't be fathering anymore Frenchmen!" The Professor laughed a little too heartily at his own off-color joke. He threw down a dozen more photos of victims, each of them looking like a spent man. "Italio Calvalio, an immigrant from Rome, December 1921. Luc Boules-Vides, another Frenchman, January of this year. Franz Keingeist, a German-American brewer, only last month. Each attacked has increased in intensity."

"There's a lot of Europeans," Newt noted.

"Yes, Grover pointed out the same trend. Seems like our girl's got a thing for guys with accents!"

"Ha ha, yes."

"Oh, but don't worry, none of the attacks have been near Chester County. They've all happened in densely metropolitan areas."

Newt picked up the photograph of Franz Keingeist, who looked especially wiped out. "What exactly is it that the Succubeast takes from them?" he asked.

Washingbeard slugged Newt in the back. "Their essence, old boy! Their spirit! And enough of it to leave them useless to women for the rest of their pitiful lives!"

"Well, as much as I would love to include a chapter on the Succubeast in my _Catalog of Terrible Magical Monsters of the Known World: Their Environs_…"

"Yes, yes…"

"…But we don't have much to go on. When Dean Ruthephus offered me the residency here, I naturally accepted. I only make two sickles a week at the Ministry, and my work for Augustus Worme at Obscura is pro bono. The Dean's offer was enough that I could afford to take a leave of absence from my job at the Beast Division. But as for this Succubeast, to be frank, I'm not sure I believe it exists."

"Oh, it's real," the American warned. "And it's power is growing. Mark my words: it won't be long before it strikes again. Bachelors of Manhattan, beware!"

"Right," said Newt, taking a piece of parchment out of his briefcase. "You sent me this drawing. Where did you get the visual?" He handed the sketch of the busty demon to Washingbeard.

"Oh, that, yeah, that's just a little doodle I did based on the crime reports."

"So, you have no evidence that it looks anything like this?" asked Newt.

"Some victims said it was a '_orrible monstre_, others said it was a feminine seductress - who knows what to believe?"

The Magizoologist stood up. "Well, thank you, Garfungal. I'm here for four months, as you know. I'll take this folder and interview some of the victims, but I can't promise that this elusive Succubeast has what it takes to make it into my Catalog. As far as I can tell, it might not be fantastic enough."

"Have it your way," replied the Professor. "But, just to be safe, I'd lock those sliding doors on Suite 7a. Ha ha!"


	7. Deborah

September 10, 1922

_Darling Hyacinth,_

_How's Ithaca? I still mean to get up there and visit._

_We had a pact to tell each other IMMEDIATELY when we got, as they say, lucky. Well, let me introduce you to the New Deb. Impulsive, sensual, and easy if the guy's a drugstore cowboy._

_The funny thing about it is that I have conflicting memories about what went down. One moment I was eating strawberries on the lawn with Karen - I know you don't like her, but I need a few new friends at Slonimb, alright? The next thing I know, a startlingly good-looking guy with an English accent and a pencil-drawn mustache - he claimed he was a visiting scholar, yeah right - was offering me French champagne, and then, before you know it! we were screwing in my single, and it was still mid-morning! It was crazy! I think his name was Franklin, but everything about it seems foggy._

_But also I had this dream last night that Franklin was flying across the sky, using his gigantic penis as a witch's broomstick. And a terrible horse with a purple mane lept out of the water and bit him in the you-know-what. I didn't used to believe that dreams had meaning, but I can't shake the feeling that Franklin is hiding something. And also that he might be in great danger. Still, I hope he calls._

_Come down to Manhattan, girl! We need to go shopping again! I saw this ritzy dress at Bergdorf Goodman's on Fifth Avenue that you would look amazing in. You're so lucky with your boyish figure. I need some new tops, too, as none of mine fit anymore. My Freshman Fifteen has turned into a Freshman Thirty-Five, and I'm busting out of my bloomers. My love to Kermit, you're so lucky to go to a co-ed school. Kisses._

_Deb._


	8. Cass (iii)

I had been spending so much time reading the _Encyclopædia of Melancholy Moods_ that it was dragging down _my_ mood. The weeks passed and the only time I was happy was in Newt Scamander's biweekly seminars. Professor Buhmer thought I was crazy to sign up for a class so far off-topic from my thesis.

But, it was nice just to see him. He would occasionally look over to me or ask me a question, but Newt did that with all the students. I sometimes noticed him strolling across campus. But they said he spent most of his hours writing amd re-writing in his private Chesterhome chambers. I couldn't forget that one weird time when I saw him sitting on a blanket, hitting on a sexy Muggle. What was he doing? He wouldn't really date a Slow-Nimrod, would he?

Aunt Isla usually wrote back right away, but transatlantic owls could take a few weeks. So I was excited when Mr. Nelson told me I had an owl. I unrolled the parchment at once and saw my aunt's familiar loopy handwriting.

"September 19, 1922

"Dearest Cassiopeia,

"Uncle Bob has been putting in extra long hours at the brewery, preparing a large batch of Winter Butterale for the upcoming holiday season. He's says it's seasoned with nutmeg and nightshade and should be delicious. Remind me to send you some for your classmates, I know the U.S. is still suffering from that interminable Prohibition! Speaking of suffering, I've had horrible headaches and am spending most of my time in bed, but enough about me!

"I asked around about Newton Artemis Fido Scamander. I've never met him, but apparently he's a fellow Hufflepuff from Hogwarts. (I've always liked to think you would have been sorted into Hufflepuff like your aunt, but with your brain you probably would have been a Ravenclaw. Then again, you did spend most of your teenage years obsessed with my old Dark Arts books, so maybe our family tendencies towards Slytherin would have had some influence on the Sorting Hat, we'll never know. But I digress.) Patricia Longbottom told me Scamander was working for a few years at the Ministry's Office of House-Elf Relocation - those colonialist villains - but he didn't really start to thrive until he was transferred to the Beast Division. Now he has a second career writing for Augustus Worme and publishing articles on magical creatures. Rumors have it that it will one day become a book. But I have an aunt's intuition that you weren't just asking about Newt Scamander's professional successes.

"I couldn't believe it when Patricia told me! He _used_ to go out with Porpetina Malfoy. Do you remember her, she was in those old mermaid movies when she was quite young? She had that long white hair and curves that could put your eye out. Anyway, Porpetina was an actress and model and one of the most gorgeous witches I have ever seen. Lucky Newt! He _must_ be quite a looker to get a girl like that. I'm not sure if Porpetina's still in the picture, romantically, because she was abducted by the Dark Witch Gengha Quill while she was traveling with Scamander in Mongolia in 1919. No one has heard of her since, and she's presumed dead. Anyway, you're twice as beautiful as she was and I miss seeing your face at our breakfast table.

"I hope some of that's useful. You never said if you need Galleons, but I've sent some anyway. Love from Bob.

"Always,

"Your Aunt Isla"

My heart was racing and a thousand thoughts were going through my head as I rolled the letter back up.

"Are you alright, miss?" asked Mr. Nelson. "Bad news from home?"

"Oh, no, it's nothing. My aunt was just sending me some money. Apparently she's been having some headaches."

"Well, I hope she get better soon," he smiled.

I went outside Hilzegaard House and started walking up the busy street toward campus. I had a meeting with Professor Forrest-Wood to discuss my thesis, followed by Scamander's graduate seminar.

I did remember some of the mermaid movies Aunt Isla would show when I was younger. She would set up Bob's projector and we'd laugh at the silent images. The white-haired mermaid was beautiful, and now that I put two-and-two together, she did look like a younger version of the white-haired witch that Newt had seen in the seventh floor bathroom! Why did his Boggart take the form of his old girlfriend? Was he horrified that she would come back? Did _he_ have something to do with her disappearance? Whatever the explanation, he must still think about her all the time if he was that scared of her showing up.

Once again, I was racing to conclusions based on little evidence, something I tended to do on long walks.

I could hardly pay attention to Professor Forrest-Wood. She droned on and on about books that I needed to read to prepare for my thesis on Preemptive Dark Arts Avoidance. I seriously did not understand how any witch could read hundreds of books before December without a time-turner.

Newt's seminar was in the basement of Chesterhome. I got there early and took a seat between Sarah Jane and Gabby at the long oval table.

"It's your favorite hour of the week," Sarah Jane elbowed me. By this point, pretty much all of the Hilzegaard witches knew I had a hopeless crush on Newt.

The visiting scholar entered through the fireplace, set his briefcase down on an empty chair and took a seat at the end of the table. He looked quite classy clad in brown corduroy robes. He smiled at us and then launched into an exciting lecture on dragons.

Since it was a graduate seminar, we were encouraged to speak up and ask questions. This could be annoying, because a few of the girls liked to show off how much they already knew, and sometimes they'd just talk about whatever else was on their mind. Sarah Jane was rambling on about East Asian dragons for like five minutes. I thought, _We have one of the leading experts on magical beasts sitting at the table, let him do the teaching!_

I interrupted her and asked, "Mr. Scamander, have you ever seen a Mongolian Ridgeback?"

"Yes, of course," Newt replied. "I was once lucky enough to witness two of them mating in the wild. Majestic beasts, they are, and surprising randy."

"Was that in Mongolia?" I asked.

"No, it was in Hawaii. Yes, of course it was in Mongolia. I traveled there, oh, about three years ago."

I knew there was no way he was going to say anything about Porpetina going missing on that trip, but I still wanted to keep him talking. "What was it like?"

"It was cold."

"Isn't that where the Dark Witch Gengha Quill lives?"

There was a long awkward silence and all of the twelve girls around the table were staring at me.

Newt said, "Now, Miss Hitchens, I know I am prone to tangents, but we should probably stay on subject. We only have twenty minutes left. I have eight more dragon species I want to go over, and your essay is due in two weeks."

I felt stupid for bringing it up in class, but I couldn't help myself. The seminar ended and Gabby and Sarah Jane got up to leave. "Ugh, I've got to feed the Nutrisore," whined Sarah Jane. "It's getting seriously big and nasty."

Newt said, "Miss Hitchens, may I have a quick word?"

My chest clenched up. After all of the other students had left, I moved over and sat down next to him.

"What on earth compelled you to bring up... I can't even say her name."

"I'm sorry. That was inappropriate."

"Please don't let it happen again," he said.

I sunk my head low. It had really bothered him. But again, almost beyond my control, I pressed the issue. "Is it true that she abducted your girlfriend?"

Newt looked me coldly in the eye. "Yes, that is true. I'd figured you had learned that somehow."

"Do you think she's still alive?"

"I know in my heart that she lives, but all of my attempts to find her have come to nothing."

"Well, it's a terrible loss. If you ever want to talk about it..."

He stood up, looking distracted. "Thank you, Miss Hitchens. I prefer not to mix my personal life with my professional life." He turned and exited through the fireplace, leaving his briefcase on the chair.

"Mr. Scamander!" I called, picking up the briefcase. I was about to chase after him with it, but instead I looked around the empty classroom and then peaked in.

The inside was several times larger that the outside. He carried many curious things around with him, including a tea kettle and a couple beast skulls. There were stacks and stacks of parchment, messily arranged in folders. I opened one folder which contained nothing but photographs of men who looked tired. I couldn't make any sense of why he would have that. Then I found an old photograph of a beautiful witch in profile, her long white hair falling over her full bosom. Next to the photo was a braided lock of hair. He actually carried around Porpetina's braid in his briefcase! I put them back and closed the briefcase, looking nervously at the fire in case he returned. Then I opened the it up again, quickly stuffed the braided lock into my pocket, and then I ran into the fire after him.

Chesterhome had a closed-circuit Floo Network between a few of the rooms. On the other side of the fire, I found myself in the seventh floor meeting room, where the Albion Cultural Club met once a month. The room was empty but inextinguishable oil-lamps were flickering along the walls. I exited through the portrait of the founder's daughter into the hallway lined with oil paintings.

The hallway didn't seem to have any doors. "Did you see a wizard come through here just now?" I asked the flapper girl in the portrait.

"Oh, everyone's in love with the handsome scholar!" she sang. "Personally, I prefer wealthy American men. Marrying an academic's not going to get you a big house in West Egg, no sir."

"I don't want to marry him - I'm just trying to give him his suitcase back!"

The founder's daughter threw her head back and gave a fake-sounding laugh. "But seriously, when are _we_ going to go out? Let's hire an automobile and go for a drive, maybe catch a show at the Hippodrome and meet some _real_ men. Not these wizards who play with their wands. _That_ one'll just give you the icy mitt!"

"Will you please tell me where his chambers are?" I asked.

"Suit yourself. It's up there on the left." I walked down the hallway and turned the corner into another corridor towards where the bathrooms were. Finally, a pair of sliding doors appeared and I knocked.

The Magizoologist opened them and objected to my presence: "Miss Hitchens! These are my private chambers! How am I ever going to get any work done around here?"

"I know," I said, lifting up the briefcase. "You left this behind."

"Oh, dear. Thank you. I didn't mean to snap at you." He took it from my hands.

"I'm sorry about earlier," I offered. "I shouldn't have brought it up."

"It's alright. Your studies are in Dark Tendencies, right? It's only natural for you to be curious and want to talk about things like that. But I prefer to keep my troubles to myself."

"Maybe another time," I said lightly, giving him a slight smile. "Have a good afternoon. See you on Thursday."

"Yes, cheerio." He closed his doors and I went downstairs and outside. I kept fondling the lock of hair in my pocket, nervous that he would notice it missing, and wondering why I had taken it. I had an idea and went over to Bluenose House where Professor Rowentree's Bio-Potions laboratory was. The one-foot-tall Irishman was finishing up an undergraduate class and girls were filtering out of the lab. I waved to Croila, who was at a cauldron, still trying to work on an antidote to the Engorgement Cream which had made her so obese.

"And who are you?" Rowentree asked me in a lilting accent.

"I'm Cass Hitchens. I'm a grad student with Professor Forrest-Wood."

"Yes?"

"I was wondering if I could borrow a few ingredients for an experiment? It's related to my thesis, see..."

"This lab isn't a grocery store, you know. What do you need?"

"Let's see... some Fluxweed, a little Knotgrass, Lacewing Flies. Hmm, I've already got leeches. Oh, and Boomslang skin. What am I forgetting?"

"Horn of Bicorn? It's sounds like you're making a Polyjuice Potion."


	9. The Pits

It was a crisp autumn evening and the leaves on the oaks were turning orange. Newt Scamander went outside to take a walk and he was enjoying the cool, fresh air. One disadvantage of the fall is that the schoolgirls studying on the lawn no longer dress quite as promiscuously as before, now cloaked by coats and scarves.

"Newt! There you are!" came an elderly voice. Dean Ruthephus was making a beeline towards the Magizoologist. "Are you coming to the Tenditch match?"

"Oh, is that today?" Newt asked. He had seen the match mentioned in the morning's '_Vitch Witch_ \- indeed the entire newspaper was full of anticipation for it - but he had no intention of attending.

"Silly lad, of course it is. Come, walk with me." Newt relented and the two strolled through the yellowing trees. The Dean lowered his voice, "Any progress on the Succubeast?"

"No, it seems to be an utterly unreliable monster," said Newt. "One victim describes it as a beautiful woman, another as a hideous hag. That naturally leads me suspect that it might be a shape-shifter."

"The thought had crossed my mind, too," said the Dean.

"I'm also a little unclear about what its method of attack is. The victims are too traumatized, or perhaps too embarrassed, to really describe what happened. It involves some type of seduction, but after that, who knows?"

Ruthephus frowned. "Sexual evils can be some of the trickiest to uncover, as people are most secretive when it comes to the bedroom."

"Hi, Franklin!" called a girly voice. Karen and Deborah passed them going the other direction, the short brunette wearing a large men's overcoat. Newt nodded at the ladies and kept walking.

"What was that all about?" asked the Dean.

"I think she mistook me for someone else," said Newt.

"That must have been it. Anyway, there were several new Succubeast attacks in September - a Finn called Gideon Ontuakalu and another Frenchman, Étienne Mou. This demon either really hates the French or really loves them."

"I will continue to provide analysis," said Newt in a measured voice. "But I'm still not convinced that the Succubeast falls within the realm of Magizoology. For all we know, it might not be a beast at all. It could be a witch with dark urges and a perverted sense of romance, or a curse of some sort, or something else entirely. The only way to capture it would be to catch it in action. And we can't spy on every bedroom in New York City."

"Well the attack on Étienne Mou was in the North Bronx, perilously close to Chester County," said Ruthephus. "We can't be too careful. Ah, here we are." They were standing in front of a bush.

"This is the entrance to the Tenditch field?" asked Newt.

"Follow me." Ruthephus stepped into the bush and Newt followed. On the other side, there appeared bleachers full of students. The court was a concrete wall in the shape of an octagon, divided in the middle by another concrete wall. There were two blonde girls riding broomsticks on either side of the middle wall, each with a large racket. A half dozen different sized balls were flying in every direction within the octagon. Another smaller ball remained aloof. Ruthephus and Newt climbed to the top of the bleachers and took a seat next to Professor Chao and Professor Chao, the conjoined twin instructors of Arithmantic Theory and Numerologic Economics.

"I'm not much of a sporting fan," admitted Newt. "I'm not sure I even know all the rules to Quidditch, let alone Tenditch."

"Ah, well, they both are derived from Swivenhodge, of course, but Tenditch is far more popular in the states. I've grown fond of it. Do you fancy a Butterbeer? I'm going to get some concessions. Shudaizi, why don't you explain the rules to our distinguished guest." The Dean got up.

The twin sitting farthest from Newt turned to talk to him, as the other Professor Chao was transfixed by the action on the court.

Shudaizi Chao spoke with a Liverpudlian accent. "It's really quite simple - not quite as convoluted as Quidditch. It can be played as singles or doubles, and the home team gets an additional team member outside of the wall called the Sphinx Slayer. The witches play on broomsticks, carrying rackets which attract balls on one side and repel them on the other. There are seven balls, each with a different speed, size and personality - the Jumbler (that huge, lumpy one), the Hater, the Mercifler, the Snaker, the Grumper, the Pisser, and the smallest one is the Pits. There's a fair amount of strategy involving which balls to focus on. That central wall is called the Grand Netifly, and it is constantly repositioning itself throughout the game.

"Now, points. Every time a ball is volleyed back over the Grand Netifly, the player scores one point, except if it's the Pits and then it's worth two. Every time one of the other balls is ignored and bounces off the octagonal wall, the player loses half a point, or a third of a point if it's the Pits. Therefore most scores fall deep into the negatives before the end of the game. Right now, for example, the score is -92 ½ to -21 ⅔."

Newt had spaced out for at least half of that. "What happens at the end of the game?"

"Ah ha! Well, that's where the Sphinx Slayer comes in. Once one side reaches the score of -100, the Sphynx Slayer is asked a difficult riddle, which is worth eleven hundred points if answered correctly. This ends the game."

Dean Ruthephus returned with two mugs of Butterbeer and handed one to Newt.

"But wouldn't that make the rest of the game's action rather worthless?" asked the Magizoologist.

"Poppycocks!" said Ruthephus.

"Well, our guest does have a point," said Professor Chao.

"No, because the action inside the octagon is where all of the drama and sportsmanship happen," interjected the other Professor Chao. "The Sphinx Slayer just determines the winner."

"I'm afraid I'll never understand sport," sighed Newt. The referee blew a whistle to indicate that one of the players had reached -100 points, and suddenly all eyes were on another girl sitting on a bench, the Sphinx Slayer. Professor Rowentree bounced onto the court with a megaphone twice his size.

"Four people fall headfirst into a fiery pit, but only three of them have their hair burst into flames. Why?"

Dean Ruthephus leaned over to Newt, "You know, Shane's father was a leprechaun, so riddling runs in his blood."

The girl looked nervous, but then a smile crept across her face. "Because the fourth one was bald!"

"Exactly, lassie," said Professor Rowentree. "1,100 points to Bronxvitch!" The stadium erupted into cheering.

"We won?" asked Newt.

Ruthephus took a swig of Butterbeer. "Sure did, but there are three more sets. Next up is doubles." As the players got off their broomsticks, Newt recognized one of them as Brook Lynam - the blonde third-year he had met in Titbird House - looking good in her green-and-white-striped Tenditch jersey. She pumped her fist in the air.

Professor Rowentree pointed the megaphone at the crowd. "The next set will commence in fifteen minutes. In the meantime, Garfungal Washingbeard has a special halftime surprise for all of you!"

The other side of the bleachers oohed and Newt rubbernecked to see what was happening. The hairy Professor was leading onto the court a humongous, hideous monster in a harness. It looked like a thirty-foot-long rat, with a long, snaky tail and two tiny wings on its back.

"Great scott!" Newt said. "That can't be a… North American Nutrisore!?"

"Oh, yes, Garfungal raised that thing from a baby," said the Dean. "It's gotten so large!" Washingbeard paraded it around the court and it squeaked miserably. It fluttered its little wings and rose off the ground a few feet.

"He's keeping that at the school?" Newt asked.

"I believe he has it caged up down in one of the Titbird tunnels."

"But, that's impossible! They've never been known to survive in captivity."

"That's why Garfungal is the best. As I sure you're aware, they're quite valuable - its feces can be used in all manner of Levitation Potions."

"But what is he feeding it?" asked Newt.

Ruthephus shrugged. "It's a rat. It probably eats anything."

"I don't think that's true," mused Newt. "To my knowledge, all previous attempts to domesticate it have resulted in the Nutrisore withering away and dying, refusing any kind of food."

"Hmm, well, maybe you'd better update your chapter on Nutrisores," suggested the Dean.

Newt set down his mug and went down to get a closer look at the animal. But Washingbeard was already leading the unhappy creature away. "Oh, hi, Mr. Scamander," said Brook. She put one hand on her hip as if she was striking a pose, her uniform tight on her thin frame.

"Good game," he told the blonde.

"I'm so glad you came. It means a lot to me."

"Actually, I was just leaving," he said. "Congratulations." He walked away and found the exit bush. As he climbed through it, the Tenditch court disappeared. The sun was about to set, and Newt thought he'd retire and attempt to work on his manuscript. He wondered if Brook Lynam was actually flirting with him just then, but he pushed the thought out of his head. Perhaps he should start heeding Grover Ruthephus's warning, to avoid the distractions of the college girls and focus on his work. Still, he couldn't muster much enthusiasm about the Succubeast, and everywhere he looked there were beautiful young women.

Newt Scamander climbed the stairs of Chesterhome and went back up to the seventh floor. He slid open the doors of Suite 7a and stopped dead in his tracks. Porpetina was standing in the middle of his chambers, wearing an elegant floor-length black gown with plunging décolletage.

Newt let out a small scream and took out his wand. "_Riddikulus!_" he yelled. But it was not a Boggart.


	10. Cass (iv)

I kept my small cauldron hidden in my dorm room closet. Worried that my neighbors might smell what I was brewing, I started burning a lot of incense. The second stage of the Polyjuice Potion was completed by early October. I was growing progressively more nervous as it got closer to being ready. I kept questioning myself what I was doing, and if I could go through with my plan to take on Porpetina's body. What if Newt freaked out and reported me to Grover? I wasn't sure if I was breaking any school rules, but there was no way that taking the form of the visiting scholar's missing girlfriend would be smiled upon. Plus, he would probably realize immediately where I had gotten the hair sample from. Also, what if it wasn't really Porpetina's hair and I transformed into an old guy with a braided white beard?

I knew Saturday night would be the best time for my experiment, because everyone would be at the Tenditch match. I was so anxious that I hadn't eaten anything all day. When the last of the girls left the Hilzegaard House common room, I went back to my room and took the lock of hair out of the carved-out book where I had hid it. I added one strand of white hair to my potion and it bubbled up. I poured a little in a goblet and toasted to Porpetina's memory. Bracing myself for the bitter taste, I drank it down.

It seemed like worms were eating at my stomach and I wanted to throw up, and then I felt burny and melty all over.

The first thing that happened was my hair began to turn from black to grey. Worried that Porpetina might be a different size than me, and not wanting to damage my clothes, I quickly disrobed. I stood in front of my mirror nude to watch the transformation. My hair was now completely white, and my legs suddenly elongated several inches. My face mutated into the film star's, with high cheek bones. Then my breasts started to grow. My chest had been high and firm, but Porpetina had a much fuller bosom than me. They expanded and grew heavier, sinking down a few inches. "She is gorgeous," I said to the mirror. I thought I was done changing, but my boobs keep getting larger. I felt them and they were unbelievably soft. I turned from side to side and admired her voluptuous butt as well.

My closet seemed ill-suited for this figure - when not wearing school robes, I tended to wear a lot of unflattering long-sleeved black dresses. Sarah Jane Jackson was several inches taller and curvier than me, so I snuck naked out into the hallway and let myself into her room. Her wardrobe was fabulous, with all manner of colorful gowns. I picked out a red one and held it against my body, considering it in the mirror. It had nasty stains all over it. "God, Sarah Jane, do your laundry," I groaned. Several of the other dresses I looked at were similarly spoiled. Finally I decided to borrow a clean, long black dress, sleeveless and with with a low-cut bustline. It fit snugly, but since Porpetina was even larger in front than Sarah Jane, I kind of busted out a little. I reckoned, if I ripped it, I could always fix it with magic.

"Wow," was all I could say when I studied the mirror. If Newt rejected me looking like this... I had almost forgotten how creepy it was, what I was about to do. I had never had this much cleavage before, and I wasn't sure if it made me feel more confident or if I just wanted to hide. I threw on a cloak to go outside and took the lift down to the lobby.

The security desk was empty, as Mr. Nelson was a huge Tenditch fan. I went out into the cool evening, feeling strange walking in another woman's body. The large breasts were quite an experience, moving and bouncing with every step.

I pictured my memory of the Boggart, and it hit me what was different. She looked exactly like the Porpetina body I had now, but I didn't remember the Boggart having big boobs, or really any boobs at all. Did that have something to do with why Newt was so frightened of it? How would he react now when I showed up looking like her, but her chest at the opposite end of the spectrum? I was so curious it was killing me.

The campus had a few Muggle girls here and there, but most of the witches were at the match. I got to Chesterhome and went upstairs to the seventh floor. I entered the hallway lined with paintings. Sadie Slomimb was snoring and looked quite hungover. I tried to remember how to get to the visiting scholar's chambers. I took a few wrong turns before I found it. Taking a deep breath, I slid open the doors.

"Hello?" I called. I looked around the various rooms, but there was no sign of Newt Scamander.

I sat down on a Shaker chair. "Damn!" I said. I had assumed he would be like me and avoid the Tenditch match. What if he was gone for hours? The Polyjuice would only last a little while. Maybe this whole idea was a mistake in the first place. I considered just going home. Maybe I should take advantage of my alluring figure and go out to Manhattan, maybe masquerade as a curvaceous Motion Picture Star for the night.

I went over to the bar and considered making myself a drink. I picked up a large animal horn and studied it. "No, is this an Erumpent Horn?" I put it back down very carefully.

After pacing for a while, changing my mind every five minutes about what I should do, I sat down and then jumped back up when I heard a noise. Footsteps were coming down the hall. Resisting the urge to hide, I positioned myself so that he would see me as soon as he walked in.

The doors slid open and Newt screamed. He shot a Riddikulus charm at me and I dodged out of the way.

"I'm not a Boggart," I said. "It's me, Porpetina."

"What sort of demon are you?" he asked.

"I'm not a demon. It's really me."

"Your voice is wrong," he said. "What are you doing here and why have you taken the form of my beloved?"

I went slowly up to him, sashaying my hips as I walked. "I've missed you, my darling," I tried to sound seductive. "But I'm back now. Forever."

"Is this how you entrance your victims?" he asked. "You take the form of a lost loved one and catch them off guards?"

This accusation confused me. What victims? "Kiss me, Newt," I continued, still attempting to stay in character. "I've longed for you so much while I was away."

"Look, demon. I know that you're the Succubeast! So tell me who you are and why you've come here prowling!"

"Succu_what_?"

"The Succubeast! Begone! I won't be fooled by your charms!"

I stopped approaching him, as he was pointing his wand right at my chest. "I'm not a demon," I pleaded.

"Well, I'm not a fool and I know perfectly well that you're not Porpetina. Which begs the question, who are you and why have you taken the form of my old lover?"

Realising I had failed, I retreated and slumped back down onto the Shaker chair. "It's me," I said. "Cass."

"Cass Hitchens?" he said, not lowering his wand. "Incredible! I never would have seen that one coming. So all along, the demure Cass Hitchens was the Succubeast!"

"I'm not a Succubus!" I yelled. "I'm using Polyjuice Potion. I just wanted to get closer to you. I'm sorry!"

The Magizoologist blinked. "Polyjuice? Really?"

"I'm sorry," I repeated, a tear falling down my cheek. "I was just so curious after seeing you with that Boggart, and learning that your girlfriend was abducted by Gengha Quill..."

"Please don't say that name!"

"Sorry... Abducted by She-Who-You-Know-Who-I'm-Talking-About. Anyway, I thought if I came to you in the form of your lost lover, you might... you might..."

"I might sleep with you?" he asked.

"Newt," I took a breath and continued, "I've had a crush on you from the moment you arrived. I know you don't like to mix your personal life with your professional life, so I thought maybe if I came to you as Porpetina..."

He finally put his wand away and came over to me, sitting down on the couch. "Miss Hitchens, what you've done is not only wicked, but deeply disturbing. You have no idea the circumstances under which I lost Porpetina. And with the Succubeast on the loose, I could have killed you just now."

"What's the hell is a Succubeast?" I asked, still sobbing.

"There's a monster who has been seducing young men in New York City and draining them of their lifeforce. One of the reasons I was brought here was to investigate it. When you came to me looking like you do now, I naturally assumed that you were the demon."

"Whoa..." I said. "Succubeast? Why don't you just call it a Succubus? Isn't that the right word?"

"To be honest, I'm not sure," said Newt.

I dried my tears and looked over at the handsome writer. "Can I tell you something?"

"What?"

"I feel very beautiful in this body. I used to watch Porpetina in those old mermaid movies when I was younger. You're very blessed to have loved her."

"She was _so_ beautiful," he nodded slowly, looking at my body up and down.

"Polyjuice Potions wear off in a few hours. Wouldn't you like to spend some time with this flesh while it lasts?" I tried not to sound desperate, attempting to turn things back around.

Newt looked at me long and hard. I moved over to sit next to him on the couch.

"This is so wrong," he said. I took that as a yes and kissed him. He embraced me and pushed me down on the couch. "Oh, Cass."

"You don't have to call me that," I said. "This is your fantasy."

"Tina, my Tina, I can't believe you've come back to me," he moaned. He kissed me on the neck and on the upper arm. I reached my hand under his cloak and felt his bare chest. I didn't care if Newt was pretending I was someone else, it was so amazing just to be with him.

Newt put his fingers in my cleavage and ripped the front of the dress open. Porpetina's amazing breasts spilled out of it. He leaned in and kissed them. "They're perfect," he said. "It's as if that evil witch never touched you."

Forgetting that it was a borrowed dress, I ripped it further and pulled it off entirely. "Take me, Newt," I begged. "Our time is limited."

I lifted up his cloak and pulled down his trousers. I was not expecting him to be so well-endowed. I took him in my hand and stroked him.

"Let's move to my bed," he said. "There'll be more room to explore each other's bodies."

He picked me up and carried me into the next room, pulling back the curtains on his four-poster bed. We fell onto it and smooched intensely for another minute.

"It's a dream to be naked with you, Newton Artemis Fido Scamander," I whispered to him.

"My Tina," he replied. "I've been counting the days since I lost you. I knew I'd get you back."

He moved his body on top of mine and kissed my nipple again. I found his long, throbbing penis with my fingers and led it over between Porpetina's thighs. I was wet and ready for him.

He entered into me and I squealed as loud as the Nutrisore.

We made love in many different positions, the tempo accelerating as the night progressed. At last, he climaxed and collapsed on top of me. I've never had an orgasm, but it felt good to have him come inside of me. He retrieved his wand, pointed it at my abdomen and said, "_Familia Consilium_!"

Newt laid down next to me, and I curled up on him, Porpetina's breasts resting on his bare chest. They seemed slightly smaller and I wondered if I was beginning to transform back.

"We can never do this again, Cass," he said.

"I know," I replied. But I didn't believe it. I still had Porpetina's hair and a lot more Polyjuice Potion.

"Thank you, that was incredible," he continued. "Maybe you _should_ go into Dark Therapy, because that was exactly what I needed. And to think that I thought you were the Succubeast."

"It was good for me, too."

"Your hair is turning grey," said Newt.

I looked down and I saw my chest shrinking. I jumped out of bed. "I have to go," I said, embarrassed.

"No, please stay, Cass..."

My legs shortening with each step, I ran into the next room and pulled on Sarah Jane's ripped-up dress. I threw my cloak over it and rushed toward the sliding doors. There was a house-elf standing by the bay windows but I was too frantic to pay him any heed.

"Wait, Cass!" he called, hobbling naked out of the bedroom.

"Goodnight, Newt," I called back. "See you in seminar!" and I ran down the hallway and fled down the stairs.


	11. Deborah (ii)

_October 17, 1922._

_Hyacinth darling,_

_I insist that you come to Chester County next weekend, and do bring Kermit. The mixer with Dullpoint is going to be quite the rub. Chad might be there, and although I loathe to see him, he was a great hoofer. And I need a new dress to wear to the dance, and I don't fit into any of my bloomers and I'm afraid I need an entirely new wardrobe. It's horrible. I hate this Ashkenazi ancestry. I'm only nineteen and I look like a babushka. You're a flapper and couldn't possibly relate._

_Nothing new to discuss on the Franklin front, I'm sad to report. I rarely see him on campus, and he barely acknowledges me if I do. The other day he was walking with an old janitor and all he did was nod when I greeted him. I've tried to stalk him, but for the life of me I can't figure out where he's staying. I'm worried that I was just a one-time fling for him. But he must remember how incredible it was! He seemed to truly love my odd little body, and if he wanted it I would let him have me again and again! I keep fantasizing about moving to London with him and having at least thirteen of his handsome English babies. I'm just devastated about the whole situation._

_Also, he had access to some fine French champagne somehow, and the hooch we've been drinking is questionable at best. Karen and I got ossified on some panther piss last week and I completely blacked out. I woke up back in my room in Terdley Slonimb, so at least Karen got me home safe, but I need to be more careful with my poisons._

_My dreams have gotten stranger, too. My recurring nightmares about breastfeeding ugly babies have gotten more frequent. I'm terrified I might be pregnant, but I won't know for another few weeks. It's probably another false scare._

_Do come next weekend,_

_Deb._


	12. Back To Terdley Slonimb

p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;"Newt Scamander was in the seventh floor bathrooms of Chesterhome. He shaved, and then he trimmed his moustache with a small pair of scissors. For the past few weeks, Newt had not been able to stop thinking about his encounter with Cass-as-Porpetina. He knew he could never let it happen again, but the memory returned to his fantasies over and over. The real Porpetina, while beautiful, had been pretty stiff in bed. Cass in Porpetina's body had been wild and passionate. He worried, should he ever get his beloved back, what it would be like to return to her after experiencing her body controlled by a more giving lover./p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;""I have to ask Cass to meet me again like that," he said to the bathroom mirror. His interactions with Miss Hitchens since that night had returned to an awkward student-teacher relationship, both trying to act as if nothing had happened. Still, he felt a distinct sexual charge from her whenever they were in the room together. While Sarah Jane was droning on, showing off how much she knew about Kneazles, Newt would allow his gaze to linger on the pretty black-haired girl, picturing her round face elongating into Portpetina's cheek bones. And her figure expanding. He knew Cass could tell he was looking, and there was an unspoken communication./p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;"Newt went down the hall back to Suite 7a. He took a stack of rolled-up parchments out of his briefcase, and found Cass's essay on Mongolian Ridgeback Procreation. At the top he wrote a large A and circled it. Then he put a charm on his ink so that what he wrote would disappear after she had seen it. Without reading the essay, he wrote in the bottom ledger, "Come to my chambers on the night of the Halloween Ball. Wear emYou-Know-What/em." He thought it was pretty safe to assume that she wasn't the type to care about the dance. Newt rolled the parchment back up and put it back with the other essays./p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;"When the seminar ended, he handed the graduate students their rolled-up parchments. As he gave Cass hers, he said quietly, "I left you some constructive criticism," just to make sure she wouldn't miss it./p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;""Thank you," she replied politely. "I'll look it over."/p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;""Are you coming to the October Meeting of the Albion Cultural Club?" Next asked her./p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;""I wasn't planning on it. The last one was dreadfully dull. And I have an insane amount of reading to do for Professor Bumher."/p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;""Alright. Well, see you at the next seminar."/p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;"Newt decided not to return to the seventh floor and instead head outside for a bit, even though it was a grey, rainy day. The foul weather reminded him of England. He opened up his briefcase and pulled out a large black umbrella./p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;"Walking across the lawn, he froze when he heard, "Franklin, wait!" He turned around and saw the petite brunette run up to him in the rain, wearing an oversized yellow raincoat./p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;""Good afternoon, Deborah," he said. "How have you been?"/p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;"Deborah spoke rather fast and nervously. "Franklin, I've been hoping to bump into you. I was wondering what you were doing on Saturday and if you planned to attend the mixer? If you did, would you consider coming as my date?"/p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;"Newt blinked, not knowing how to respond. There was clearly no way he could go to a Muggle mixer with this college Sophomore on his arm. But nonetheless her face was cute with rain dripping down her dimpled cheeks. He had thought their encounter had been off-the-books, inspired by the warm weather, and simply casual. He looked around the lawn and saw a few witches walking through the rain./p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;""Look, can we talk in private?" he asked./p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;""Why, you don't want to be seen with me?"/p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;""It's not that," he lied. "Let's go where it's not so wet and we can have a conversation."/p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;"They walked together over to Terdley Slonimb and went into Deborah's small single room. He leaned his umbrella against the desk and sat down on her bed./p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;""I really enjoyed that time we had together. But I can't possibly go with you to your dance."/p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;""Ok," she said, still standing in her dripping yellow raincoat. "Is there someone else?"/p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;""Well, yes. I have a fiance in England and it probably shouldn't get back to her that I went dancing with other girls while here in the states." He felt a little grimy twisting the facts, but it was easier than a Memory Charm./p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;""I understand," she Deborah./p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;""You asked me to be your lover, and I consented. But it can never be anything else."/p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;""I'm sorry, I guess I kept dreaming that we could take it to the next level," she said. "But it hurt when you didn't talk to me again after what had happened."/p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;""I didn't mean to be so cold. I've just been so busy, and the graduate school is very insular. Listen, do you want a drink?"/p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;""Right now?" she asked. "What, do always carry French champagne with you everywhere you go?"/p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;""Something like that," he winked and went over to the closet and found her coupes./p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;""I've got to take it easy on the giggle water - I keep overdoing it - but I'll have a glass." He took out his kettle and turned the knob on the side to champagne. "What is that?"/p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;"He forgot that he had already erased her memory of his kettle, and he didn't really want to have to do it again. "You must promise never to tell another living soul about this kettle," he said./p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;""What? Um, ok."/p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;"He poured two glasses and she finally took off her drenched raincoat. She was wearing a long brown skirt and a matching blouse. Newt stared in disbelief at her midsection./p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;""Your… your breasts…" he stammered./p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;"She laughed. "Yeah, what about them?"/p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;""It's just, they're so much bigger than they were last month."/p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;""I know, they've grown. I've been trying to watch what I eat, but they just keep enlarging."/p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;""But it can't be natural to develop that quickly in just a month?"/p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;""You think? But, what am I going to do about it? My mother said there's an emergency operation that I could consider if they start causing me too much discomfort. But I really don't want to go under the knife. Plus, some guys are into it, I think." Deborah moved in a little closer to Newt, who was still transfixed by this small girl's bosom. She downed the champagne and tore off her blouse. "If you're going to stare at them, you might as well experience them in their full glory."/p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;""They're remarkable," said Newt. He had not come back to her dorm room with any intention of reuniting with the Sophomore, but now she was topless and he couldn't help becoming aroused./p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;""I'm devastated that you can't go to the rub. But I appreciate you being honest with me." She took his fingers and placed them on her left tit. He massaged it and leaned into kiss her. Putting his other hand on her pillowy rear, he pulled her close to him. She could feel him growing harder through his trousers, so she unbutton the flap and pulled him out into the fresh air. She knelt on the floor and took him into her mouth. He moaned and reached down with both hands to keep fondling her as she sucked./p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;"The first time they had hooked up, Deborah had also started by going down on him. But they had eventually moved to the bed and ended up going all the way. This time, she kept sucking him faster and faster and he kept massaging her expansive chest. He felt like he was about to climax, and she pushed him on the bed, taking him between her girls and pushing them together./p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;"He rolled over and exhaled, "That was amazing." She went to grab a towel to clean off her chest. Newt kissed her and buttoned up the flap on his trousers./p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;""Don't be a stranger," she told him. "Stop by my room from time to time, okay?"/p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;""I will," he said. "How about Thursday afternoon?"/p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;""I can't, I have a test. I could meet you Friday?"/p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;""No, on Friday I have an important deadline. I have to owl the draft of an article on Nifflers to Augustus by 9. I could do Saturday."/p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;""But Saturday's the night of the mixer!"/p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;""Well, how about Saturday afternoon?" The brunette smiled and nodded. "But you must promise to keep our affair discreet. And especially, don't gossip about my tea kettle or any other queer things you notice about me."/p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;""Alright, Franklin," she kissed him again. "If I can't be your sheba, at least I can be your secret lover. I won't say a thing. Say, will you leave me some of that champagne before you go?"/p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;"Newt took his kettle and filled up an empty vase with the cold, bubbly liquid. "Don't drink it all at once," he said./p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 12.7272720336914px; line-height: 19.0909080505371px; text-align: justify;""I'm going to take it up to Karen's room. She'll be thrilled to get spifflicated on a Tuesday."Newt kissed her goodbye and took his umbrella back out into the rain./p 


	13. Professor Chao & Professor Chao

The next day, as Newt did not have any seminars, he intended to spend the morning in his chambers organizing all the messy drafts of his _Catalog of Terrible Magical Monsters: Their Environs, Diets, and Other Useful Information, Including Locations_. He poured a cup of tea, but just as he was laying his parchments out on the table, he received an urgent message from Dean Ruthephus telling him to come immediately.

The Dean's office was in the basement of Chesterhome, so Newt went out to the hallway and towards the meeting room. "There you are, cowboy," called the painting of Sadie Slonimb. "Now this time I absolutely won't take no for an answer. Let's get a jorum of skee and go on a toot."

"Another time, Sadie," he said. "Please open up, it's an emergency."

"Ah, nerts! I always thought you were a cake-eater." The portrait swung open and Newt traveled through the fireplace to the basement. Torches lit the stone walls. Newt hurried down the dungeon corridor toward the Dean's office.

Ruthephus's secretary was an elderly witch with thick spectacles. "Hello, Enid," he said. "The Dean wanted to see me."

She filed her eleven-inch fingernails. "Go right on in, Mr. Scamander."

The clean-shaven old man was behind the desk in his humid office. The stone walls were bare except for a large window opening to what looked like a dense Amazonian jungle, a curious sight for a room underground in Chester County, New York.

"What's the matter, Grover?" Newt asked as he entered.

"Newt, we must go at once. The Succubeast has struck at Bronxvitch! Last night, both Professor Chao and Professor Chao fell victim to the demon in their chambers at Bluenose House."

The Dean of Magic and Newt rushed out of Chesterhome and entered a large Victorian house next door. There were empty Butterbeer cans strewn around the common room and a few young witches were stirring cauldrons in the kitchen. They went upstairs to the wing where some of the faculty members had their chambers and knocked on the door.

"Come in," came the Liverpudlian accent.

They entered and went into the bedroom, where the conjoined twins were laying in a four-poster bed, looking completely exhausted.

"Shudaizi, Guaitai, how are you feeling?" asked Ruthephus.

"I've been better," Professor Chao struggled to say.

"I know it might be hard to describe, but you must tell us, in as much detail as you can, everything you remember."

The other Professor Chao closed his eyes and spoke slowly. "Last night… Shudaizi suggested we turn in early. We had only just begun to fall asleep when a young woman entered the room."

"What did she look like?" asked Ruthephus.

"She was beautiful, and quite curvaceous. I naturally assumed that she was a student, but now I can't be sure. It was no witch from Bronxvitch, or we probably would have recognized her, and it couldn't have been a Muggle because how could she have gotten into Bluenose House?"

"And how did you react?"

"I asked who she was, but she said nothing. She dropped her robes and staggered into bed with us, completely naked. She was wearing nothing."

The other Professor Chao implored, "Don't judge us too harshly. Few men could resist a woman who looked like that, offering herself so willingly. With our medical condition, the number of girls who show interest in us is limited."

"Of course," said Dean Ruthephus. "There is no judgment. But if we have any hope of catching this demon, we must hear everything that you remember. Did she seduce you?"

"…No foreplay, no. She simply mounted Shudaizi and began, uh, fornicating."

"It seemed too good to be true at first," added Professor Chao. "But then, when it came to its natural end…"

"You mean, ejaculation. We're all adults here."

"Precisely… When I started to come, it was like I couldn't stop. It kept erupting out of me, and it felt like my soul was trying to escape my body."

"At this point I knew something was wrong," said the other Professor Chao. "I realized that she looked dead in her eyes, as if she was possessed. Both Shudaizi and I tried to push her off of him, but I felt myself growing weaker too. I felt a pull through the side where we're conjoined. Without dismounting Shudaizi, she turned, leaned over and took my phallus into her mouth. I was powerless to resist, and she swallowed more of my spirit than I could have produced in a lifetime. When we were totally spent, she left us here and exited without a word."

"That is horrible and deeply disturbing… not to mention a bit revolting." Dean Ruthephus paced up and down the room. "We'll cancel your classes until you two are able to regain some energy. I'll have Shane concoct an elixir that should help get you out bed. Thank you for being so forthcoming about what must have been a most unpleasant experience. You've been far more helpful than any of the Muggle victims that Garfungal interviewed. Newt, what's your take?"

"There's an African Mojo Bird whose feathers can increase stamina," he offered. "There might be a cure."

"I'll have Shane look into it," Ruthephus said. "But what about the demon? What do you think it is and why is it doing this?"

"I've said before that I think it might not be a magical creature," said Newt. "There could be some witch or wizard who is behind it, collecting these men's essences for some dark purpose. But who or why is beyond me.

"Until we catch this thing, I must caution all single men to lock their doors and not to take any strange lovers... or they may be your last! The Mixer Ball is this weekend, and hundreds of young men will be visiting campus. We must be vigilant!"


	14. Cass (v)

Gabby and Croila couldn't understand why I refused to come to the Halloween Ball. I kept telling them I simply didn't want to go.

"Sometimes I think you _want_ to be a cancelled stamp!" Gabby yelled at me.

I think Thelonia and some of the others suspected I had a secret.

And what a secret! When I realized Newt Scamander's "constructive criticism" on my essay was an invitation to come to him as Porpetina again, I nearly fell off of my chair. In truth, I had taken the Polyjuice Potion several times in the past few weeks. I'd locked the door on my room and walked around naked in her body for a few hours, feeling her curves and touching myself in other places. I felt very sexy in her flesh.

The days leading up to Saturday crept by so slow, it was killing me. Professor Bumher wanted me to read three thousand pages of a book called _From Sadness to Badness_ by Evangeline Morndeth. But I had trouble focusing. All I could think about was Newt's four-poster bed and the things I wanted to do it in.

On Saturday afternoon, I was walking with Gabby across campus and we saw the buses of boys arrive. "Oooh!" said Gabby. "Let's play M.O.W. - _Muggle Or Wizard?_"

Like Bronxvitch and Slonimb, the Pincer College for Wizardry shared its school grounds with a non-magical school, Dullpoint, whose students were completely oblivious to the magic in their midst. The Ball was on Halloween so that we could dress as witches alongside the Muggle girls, who tended to come as a Sexy Vampiress, or Sexy Werewolf, or Sexy Girl-In-A-Black-Dress.

"Muggle," I said, nodding at a tall boy with a crew cut and a swagger, dressed as Frankenstein's Monster.

"Still cute, though."

"Gabby!"

"Okay, that one's definitely a Wizard." He was wearing a bright pink suit with a gigantic bowtie.

"Muggle, Muggle, Wizard, Muggle, Wizard, Wizard…"

"Wow, look at that piece of meat!" Gabby pointed as a short but built guy in fashionable dress robes. "This can't wait till the Ball. I'm going to go scoop that up before someone else pounces."

She went off to flirt with him, and I started heading back to Hilzegaard House. I would have to wait until all of the girls had dressed and gone to the dance before I could change into Portpetina and sneak into Chesterhome.

As I was going home, from across the campus mall, I saw Newt walking. And I was about to wave at him when he ducked into one of the Muggle dorms - Terdley Slonimb. "That's really weird," I said to myself.

Back in Hilzegaard House, I stayed in my room reading. But in the common room, I could hear Gabby helping Croila expand her dress robes. She had become even more obese from her Engorgement experimentations, and she complained that nothing she owned fit.

Through my walls, I heard Sarah Jane and Thelonia getting ready in the next room. "God, there's stains on this one, too!" Sarah Jane yelled. "All my clothes are ruined! That Nutrisore is destroying my life!"

I rolled my eyes and stared at the clock. Couldn't they hurry up and get away to the stupid Ball?

"Where's my black gown? I know that one was clean!" I felt a little guilty, as I had not returned or repaired the dress I had borrowed from her. I took it out of my closet and whispered "_Reparo!_"

Finally I heard the lift close and there were no more voices in the common room. I poured myself a goblet of Polyjuice Potion and disrobed, experiencing the usual nauseating effects of the tonic. I watched myself naked in the mirror as my hair changed to white, my legs lengthened, and my chest began to take up more of the room. I struck a few poses in Porpetina's body and then put on Sarah Jane's floor-length black dress. I felt there was no need for undergarments, as the dress wouldn't need to stay on for long.

This time, though, I poured some more Polyjuice Potion into a flask in case I needed to stay Porpetina for longer.

Twenty minutes later, I tried to slide open the doors to Chesterhome's Suite 7a, but they had been charmed shut. I knocked and the Magizoologist lifted the protective spells and let me in. "Can't be too careful with a Succubeast on the loose," he explained. He was sitting at a small table by the window eating a muffin. "You look incredible," he said.

"What's with the muffin?" I asked.

"Sorry, I skipped dinner. The girls from Titbird House sent me these, and they're actually pretty good. Would you like one?"

"No, thanks. But I would love a drink."

"Of course, of course!" Newt took out two cocktail glasses and poured white liquid from his kettle. Ice cubes clinked out of the stout followed by slices of pineapple, which he put on the rim of the glass. "It's a piña colada," he said.

"Fancy!"

"I thought it would match your perfectly white hair."

I took off my cloak and we sat down together on his couch, clinking the drinks. "It's funny," I said. "This kind of feels like a first date."

"Well, emotions were running high last time," he said. "This is nice, though, just being able to see my Porpetina again in a more casual setting." He put his hand on my leg.

"I've brought some more of the Potion, too, so we don't have to rush things." I braved asking him a personal question: "Are you worried about what Porpetina will think of your behaviour, here…? Even if it's with an exact replica of her body?"

"What, is this a Dark Therapy session?" he laughed. "To be honest with you, I have been with other women as well. Three years is a long time."

"There are other women?" I asked, trying not to sound angry. "Is it that Muggle girl with the big knockers? Is that why you were going into Terdley Slonimb!?"

Newt looked taken aback. "You are a remarkably intuitive young witch, Cass."

"Really? _Her?_ Do you really think it's smart to sleep with Muggles? What if you got her pregnant!? You know Phineas Nigellus Black doesn't let half-bloods into Hogwarts these days! I should know!"

"I… I can't help it," he admitted, starting to weep. "There are fantastic girls at this school everywhere I look! I was warned that it might distract me from my work, and it has! I never should have come here. I don't love that girl, Deb, or whatever her name is. And I don't love you, either, or even the real Porpetina. Oh, Brook. She's the one I truly love!" Tears streamed down his face.

"What?"

"It's true. This is wrong, Cass. Brook Lynam is the only woman for me. No one can compare. She is a perfect beauty. I can't believe I've ignored her advances until now. I must find her!"

He stood up and ran out of the room, sliding the doors behind him.

"What the hell was that?" I called out. I sat there for a moment, utterly devastated. That had gone horribly wrong. I wondered if Dark Therapy would be the best career choice for me, after all. I went over the bizarre events of the last hour. He invited me up to his chambers during the Ball, and told me to take a Polyjuice Potion to look like his old girlfriend. Then, he admits that he's sleeping with a Muggle, declares his love for some sporty Titbird girl and runs off! What the hell, man?

"_Titbird girl…_" I repeated out loud. I went over to the table and looked at the card with the gift muffins. _For our favorite visiting scholar. Love from the girls of Titbird House._ "A love potion derailed the one time he seemed to be opening up to me!? How could he be so _stupid_?"

I hurried out of Chesterhome. What if Brook Lynam was this Succubeast that he'd told me about? Newt could be in great peril!

Titbird House was underground, but Brook would probably be at the Ball. Would Newt think to seek her there? I ran down the hill to the Dining Hall, which had been emptied of its tables and converted into a ballroom. Muggles in costumes and witches and wizards in dress robes were hoofing it up to a six-piece jazz band. I walked across the room looking everywhere for Newt, and I turned a lot of heads. I realized that men were checking out Porpetina's body. "Say, you're a choice piece of calico," a blond Dullpoint boy said to me. "Care to hit the dance floor?"

"Who are you and why are you wearing my dress?" a voice came from behind me. I spun around.

"Sarah Jane! Have you seen Newt?"

"Cass? Is that your voice? _That's_ your Halloween costume? Someone else's body and my fucking dress?"

"I'm sorry, Sarah Jane. There's no time to explain! Please tell me, have you seen Newt?"

"Alright, calm down," she said. "He stopped by the Ball a few minutes ago, but he left with Brook Lynam, I think."

"We have to go stop him!" I yelled. "He's taken a love potion and he could be in danger!"

"Brook Lynam slipped the visiting scholar a love potion? What a bearcat!"

"Can you show me how to get into Titbird House?"

"Sure, let's get out of here. All of the good men are either taken or Muggles, anyway. Plus, Garfungal's feeding the Nutrisore tonight, and I should probably pop down there and help him."

The witches left the Ball and went up the hill to the cafe on the grassy mall. Sarah Jane showed Cass how to climb in the toilet and flush herself down to the underground tunnel. Porpetina's body landed in a puddle and soaked the black gown. "I'm glad I don't live in Titbird," she told Sarah Jane.

"Tell me about it. Follow that rat." The rodent appeared and the girls walked up the subway tracks to the empty Titbird common room.

"Newt!" she called out. "Sarah Jane, how do I figure out which room is Brook's?"

"Listen for the moaning sounds," she suggested. "Oh, hi, Garfungal."

The slovenly bearded Professor appeared in the tunnel entrance and his jaw dropped.

"But… but it can't be!" he stuttered. "How did you get here?"

"We took the ghost subway, how do you think we got here?" said Sarah Jane.

"Not you, idiot! Porpetina Malfoy!" shouted Professor Washingbeard, gawking at me in horror. "How did you escape from her cave? And your bosom, it's grown back!"

"What are you talking about?" I asked. But Washingbeard pulled out his wand and yelled "_Stupify!_" and I fell to the ground unconscious.


	15. Titbird Calling

Newt Scamander rushed across campus toward the Halloween Ball, praying that Brook Lynam would be there. "What if she rejects me?" he fretted. "I'll probably have to jump from my seventh floor window."

"Newt! Come quick!" Dean Ruthephus intercepted Newt on the lawn.

"I can't talk now, I'm in a hurry," he said.

"The Succubeast has struck again! We've just discovered a Dullpoint Muggle in an empty classroom, drained of his essence. She must have seduced him away from the dance! We must act quick. She might still be on campus, and, for all we know, she could hit it again tonight!"

"That's horrible," said Newt. "But I must get to the Ball."

"Good idea," said Ruthephus. "Keep your eyes peeled for any unusual behavior. I'll survey the perimeter." The Dean ran off into the night, and Newt jogged down the hill to the Dining Hall.

The jazz band was playing Eddie Cantor's "Oh, Is She Dumb!" Newt heart was racing as he looked around the room for the blonde girl. Finally, he found her over by the punch bowl wearing a tight-fitting, pale yellow-and-white striped skirt and blouse combo.

"My darling, I had to find you," he announced.

"Oh, really?" she replied. She put her hand on her hip. "I take it you liked my muffins."

"They were the most exquisite muffins in the history of baked goods! You look stunning tonight. I regret every day since I've arrived that I haven't ask you out."

"You want to get out of _here_?"

"I want nothing more." She took his arm and they slipped away, turning a few heads.

"Did Newt Scamander just leave with Brook Lynam?" Gabby asked Croila. "Don't tell Cass."

Newt felt lighter than air walking up the hill arm-and-arm with the attractive blonde. They used the cafe toilets to get to Titbird House. Impatient to be in each others arms, they followed the sewer rat to her room.

"I think I have always loved you," he told her as she closed her bedroom door. "Your Boston accent is like music in the night."

"Settle down, cowboy," she replied, pulling down the pale yellow skirt. "Don't worry, you're not going to remember any of this."

"How could I forget the night I declared my love for you?" he asked. They embraced and Brook started unbuttoning his vest. "Your eyes are like the infinite ocean…"

"Please shut up and kiss me," she said. They fell naked onto her four-poster bed. Newt kissed her soft breasts and caressed her thin, athletic frame. Touching his tongue to her naval, she arched her back and lifted her graceful neck off of the pillow.

"Go down on me," she told him in a broken whisper. He spread her fit legs and kissed up to her upper thighs. She tossed her head back in rapture, her golden hair spilling all over the bedsheets.

Newt came up for air and looked confused. "How did I get here?" he asked.

"Don't stop!" she begged, pushing his head back between her legs.

She cried out in ecstasy as he licked her for another minute. Then he sat up again. "Something's wrong," he said. "I shouldn't be here."

"Damn it," she said. "How much of that muffin did you eat?"

Newt stood up and started to walk away from the bed. Brook pointed her wand at the Magizoologist's back. "_Obliviate!_" Newt scrunched his forehead, having no idea where he was, and walked naked out into the sewer passage. Brook cursed and laid back down on her bed. She glanced over at the pile of their discarded garments, the wizard's wand peaking out of his crumpled cloak.

Newt stumbled into the Titbird common room in a daze, unaware that he had no clothes on. "Why am I in Titbird?" he asked the empty room. He remembered that he was supposed to be with Cass in his chambers. "Oh, no, Cass!" He was completely dumbfounded how he had left the sweet girl who had agreed to take a potion and come to him as Porpetina. He looked down and saw that he was nude. He had no wand to summon clothes, and he didn't know what to do.

"I couldn't have been a victim of the Succubeast, because I seem to still have my essence. But something very sinister is going on."

Remembering that Professor Washingbeard's office was in Titbird, he decided he should go find him and tell him what happened. At least Washingbeard could summon some clothes for him so he could walk home. He went down the misty tunnel and found the ten-foot-wide storm drain. It swung open and Newt climbed down into the Magical Creature instructor's cluttered office.

"Hullo?" he called, but the Professor was not at home. He looked around for something to wear and found a large cloak. It was covered in gross white stains. "Disgusting," he said, and threw it back on the floor, preferring nudity over wearing some that nasty.

Newt heard a muffled squeal. "Is that the Nutrisore?" he wondered. "Where is Washingbeard keeping that thing?" The squealing continued and he followed the sound to one of the Professor's many hoarded trunks. "Is it in here?"

He opened the trunk and saw that it was the size of a dungeon on the inside. Crawling down, he dropped into the dimly lit room. His eyes adjusted to the darkness and he screamed in terror.

Newt Scamander had researched horrible monsters on five continents, and was no stranger to some of the most awful and twisted sights. But what he saw now was one of the most disturbing things in his whole career. In a gigantic cage, the thirty-foot-long rat beast was nursing from a nude human wetnurse, rapidly and sloppily licking at her nipple. The girl sat there with blank eyes, in an empty trance, holding a large breast up to suckle the Nutrisore.

Newt cried out to her, "Deb?"


	16. Cass (vi)

My eyes were closed and I had a splitting headache. I could feel Porpetina's curves restrained with rope. I struggled a little to loosen them, but the ropes were too tight.

"You've summoned me five thousand miles for a two-bit Porpetina impersonator?" came a low, otherworldly woman's voice. "The real one is quite safe, I'm sure of it. I was terrorizing peasants in Burma, and you called me back for _this!?_"

"M'lady, it looked so much like her… and her bosom, restored!" I recognized the voice of Garfungal Washingbeard, but more submissive. "I was worried about you! Please forgive my mistake, m'lady!"

"It's just a grad student named Cass Hitchens," came Sarah Jane's voice. "She's my neighbor, and she borrowed my dress - without asking I might add! I think this is just her Halloween costume or something. It's probably Polyjuice Potion."

I opened my eyes and saw that I was deep underground. I'd been tied up to a sewer pipe. I could see three shadowy figures in the mist, Professor Washingbeard and Sarah Jane talking to a witch with her back to me. From behind, she had voluptuous womanly shapes and quite an ample derriere, draped by flowing sorceress's robes.

"The Porpetina is stirring," said Washingbeard. "I have some Veritaserum. This should clear things up."

The lady turned around and, gravitating hehnd her cloak, I beheld breasts larger than I could possibly conceive of. Each was the size of a Jumbler from Tenditch. But unlike normally smooth tits, these monstrosities seemed to be composited of a half-dozen multiple lumps. And despite their humongous size, they defied gravity and stuck straight out, hovering majestically. As she approached me, I could see that she had burning red eyes and a haggish face, her hair in dreaded cords resembling serpents.

"Are you awake, my dear?" she asked me with a feigned kindness. "Drink this down and don't object."

Washingbeard held up the vial of steaming grey liquid to my mouth and I drank the potion.

"Now, who are you?" she asked.

"I'm Cassiopeia Black, from London."

"A Black! _Fascinating…_ Good family. And how did you come to be disguised as Porpetina Malfoy?"

"I made a Polyjuice Potion from a lock of her hair that I stole from Newt Scamander."

"Scamander! And was _he_ aware that you were masquerading as her tonight?"

"Yes. I was supposed to rendezvous with him in his chambers."

"Sexy!" cackled the haggish Dark Witch. "Perhaps our friend Newt Scamander is more devious than we've given him credit for."

"Well, what should we do with her?" asked Washingbeard. "Kill her? She's seen too much, m'lady."

"Let her go," said Sarah Jane. "She's a Black and she's a Dark Arts scholar here at Bronxvitch. Plus, she's quite clever. She could still develop into a formidable ally."

"What about her chests?" drooled the Professor. "They're exact replicas of Porpetina's. They could be of some use to you."

"No, you fool!" She slapped the hairy man with the backside of her hand. "Who knows what they'll look like after the Polyjuice wears off! My magic requires Picture Perfect Bosoms - such tits are two in a million. We'll see what she looks like after she changes back, and then, I don't know, you can murder her if you'd like. She's of no use to me, just another lover of Newt Scamander's."

"Do you… do you forgive me, m'lady?" Washingbeard's usually boisterous voice now sounded pathetic.

"Of course, Garfungal. You have always been one of my most devoted Breast Eaters."

"Before you go… might I just have one sip of your dark sustenance? How I've longed for it…"

The barrel-chested Professor fell to his knees, and the witch lifted up her flowing robes. I gaped at what I saw. That giant bosom was made up of two pairs of five-clustered breasts, each individual one about the size of one of mine on Porpetina's body. They jutted straight out into space, writhing like huge worms. I shuddered. It reminded me of something I had seen in one of Aunt Isla's oldest, darkest books, a very long time ago. Washingbeard took the nipple of one of the sorceress's ten teats and sucked desperately, chugging a black milk from it.

With them distracted by whatever it was they were doing, I struggled with the ropes again. I found them much looser, and looked down to see my body shrinking, my chest diminishing and my legs shortening. I made eye contact with Sarah Jane and she gave me a head twitch, meaning, "Get out of here, now."

I slipped out of the ropes. The black gown came off too, and I pulled everything off of me. I hadn't worn any undergarments, assuming I wouldn't be needing them for long. So, dipping into the shadows, I was naked except for my wand. I had no idea where I was or what they would do if they saw me missing. I heard a tiny squeak. Two black eyes peaked out in the torchlight. The rat turned and ran into a grate and I followed.

I climbed through a sewer pipe and the rat disappeared beneath a ladder. I climbed up what felt like at least a hundred feet and came out in the abandoned subway tunnel. "Brook," I said to myself. Newt might still be with her, and I had to find him and tell him that the witch who had abducted the real Porpetina was right now deep underneath Bronxvitch. The rat appeared again on the tracks. "I need to find Newt Scamander," I told it. "He might be in Brook Lynam's room." It started running down the subway tracks. I chased the rodent and the tunnel expanded and branched out. We passed through the empty common room and down a hallway to a large sewer grate, into a cluttered office lined with framed photographs of magical beasts. "No, we shouldn't be in here," I told the rat. "What if Washingbeard comes back?"

But then I heard a man's voice echoing from somewhere. I looked around and saw a messy pile of trunks, one of them open. Peering into it, I yelled "_Lumos!_"

There was a large, dank stone room inside of the trunk. I screamed and ducked out of the way. The monstrous Nutrisore flew out and hovered in the middle of Washingbeard's office. It rested midair, cleaning itself like a puppy with its surprisingly dainty fingers. I looked back down and saw a buck naked Newt Scamander, with a petite girl on her knees in front of him. The busty demon was reaching out toward his manhood with her mouth open wide.


	17. Rattus Ex Machina

"Deb, what are you doing here?" Newt Scamander called to the girl in the cage. She looked over at the naked wizard with lifeless eyes. The giant rat monster finished feeding and nuzzled her on the neck. She gave it an absent-minded scratch on the head. Then Deborah stood up, opening the cage from within.

"Are you alright? Why won't you say anything?" She tripped over the cage door and stumbled toward him. He caught her in his arms and she looked up at him again with a blank stare. "Are you drunk?"

Deborah puckered her lips and moved in for a kiss. "Come on, my dear," he whispered. "Let's get you back to Terdley Slonimb." She tried to kiss him again. "Not here! Let's go, please."

She wrestled away from him and tried to climb back in the rat's cage. Newt stared at her confounded. He had been with her only earlier that afternoon. But was it possible that her boobs had ballooned even larger, mere hours later? "Deb, I don't know what's going on, but I just found you breastfeeding a Nutrisore. I'm sure you're not remembering what you're doing. Please, if you can hear me, let me help you get out of here."

She came back at him and fell to her knees. He backed up a few inches and she reached toward his crotch. They were blinded by a bright light and the Nutrisore flapped its tiny wings and took off out of the trunk. "Newt! Be careful!" came a young woman's voice from above.

Deborah blinked in the light and Cass jumped down in between them. "_Stupify!_" yelled the pale, black-haired witch. The kneeling girl slumped on the ground and Cass spun around.

"Why were you two naked in this rat pit?"

"Why are _you_ naked?" Newt replied.

"Newt, something crazy just happened. She's here, the witch who has Porpetina. Gengh- _You know_, She-Who-You-Know-Who-I'm-Talking-About."

"What? How?"

"And Washingbeard is one of her followers, her 'Breast Eaters' or something. He restrained me when he thought I was Portpetina, but I escaped when the Polyjuice wore off."

Newt blinked, trying to catch up. "Cass, I don't have my wand, or my kettle, or any clothes. Where were they?"

"They were deeper in the sewers. He was… doing something… It was too gross to describe."

"It can't be any grosser than what I just saw. But if what you're saying is true, and she's here, we're hardly in any position to battle one of the world's most powerful Dark Witches. I'm not even sure how I got here."

Cass snapped her fingers. "I know how. I think your clothes and wand might be in Brook Lynam's room. Do you remember where it is?"

"Brook Lynam? The Tenditch player?"

"Yes, you ate a love potion she gave you."

"I did what? That explains my missing memories. Quick, let's find her room."

"What are you going to do about that Muggle? Is she the Succubeast?"

"I think she's just ossified, as they're saying these days."

"I thought you came down here to hook up with Brook. I wasn't expecting to find you with your

Slow-Nimrod lover."

"Me neither. But we can't leave her here." Newt lifted up the small, overly busty girl's body and they climbed out of the trunk. The Nutrisore was still floating a few feet above the floor in Washingbeard's office. It had defecated several times and its scat was also levitating.

"He's almost kind of cute," Cass allowed.

"There's its harness," said Newt. "C'mere, boy. You want out of here? Help us out." He picked up the giant harness and slipped it over the huge rat's face. It squealed and struggled a little, but Newt scratched it behind the ears and its eyes boggled. The Nutrisore came down to the ground.

"You're good with that thing," Cass said.

"It's a living."

Newt gently lay the unconscious girl onto the beast's back, fastening her in the harness. He took the leash and they led it out of Washingbeard's office back into the sewer tunnel.

A girl screamed. It was a Freshman witch coming home from the Ball. She wore red dress robes hanging loosely over a curvaceous figure.

"Mildred, where's Brook's room?" Cass demanded.

The Freshman was speechless at the sight of two naked people leading a thirty-foot-long flying rodent with another nude girl strapped on its back. She pointed down the hall.

The dorm room door was locked. "_Alohamora!_" Cass said, and they burst in. The lanky blonde was lying unclothed on her four-poster bed with her legs spread, clutching a polished wooden object the size of a healthy cucumber. Brook sat up in alarm.

"There's your robes, Newt," said Cass. They were crumpled on the floor next to the Titbird girl's pale yellow skirt.

"Where's my wand?" he asked.

Brook gave a guilty look and held up the bulky wooden object in her hand. "Please forgive me, I rubbed a little of Croila's Engorgement Cream on it."

"We'll deal with you later," Newt said, snatching his enlarged and moistened wand out of the blonde's hands. "_Accio Kettle!_"

"Shh!" Cass hushed. There were voices outside.

A deep, ethereal woman's intonations could be heard from the common room, bellowing, "And who is this little piece of fruit? Now, see, Garfungal, _these_ are much more like it!"

"Truly delectable, m'lady," came the Professor's voice.

"Mildred!" yelled Cass, and bolted out into the hallway.

"Cass, wait, it's too dangerous!" Newt, only having put on his socks, chased after her. The Nutrisore was in the corridor cleaning its face with its little hands. They ran past it and into the common room, where Gengha Quill and Garfungal Washingbeard were standing over the curvy Freshman called Mildred.

"Stop!" Cass shouted. Newt and Brook ran up behind her, the Magizoologist pointing his engorged wand.

"And now who are these co-eds?" the Dark Witch asked. She had thankfully put her flowy robes back on over that insane bosom. "I didn't realize Bronxvitch was a clothing-optional institution."

"I'm Cassiopeia Black, and this is Newt Scamander and Brook Lynam." Cass wasn't sure why she had answered so honestly, and then she remembered the Veritaserum.

"Well, Miss Black, _now_ I see the family resemblance. You have your father's eyes. Garfungal, kill them all."

"_Avada Kaaa-_" and then Newt's kettle flew out of nowhere and smacked the bearded Professor in the side of the head, knocking him out cold.

"_Fumos!_" Newt yelled. A thick black smoke erupted out of his wand, denser than he had intended. The Engorgement Cream had messed up his wand's calibration.

They heard a thundering cackle in the darkness. "If my servant is useless, I'll murder them all myself! _Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra! Adepta Mamilia!_"

Streaks of green light were seen shooting through the black smoke. Newt found the kettle in his hands and rubbed its side, murmuring, "Guide us to the Nutrisore." Out of the spout issued a zephyr of clean air, spiraling down the tunnel. He reached around him and felt the bare skins of two bodies. He pulled them with them, led by the wind coming out of his kettle's spout. They bumped into the giant rodent, who licked Newt's face. He poured a bit of tea out of the kettle and let the rat drink it out of his hand. "Dig," he whispered in its big ear. Cass, Brook and Newt clammered onto the beast's back alongside the unconscious Deborah. And it flew up to the ceiling of the corridor and began to bite and scratch at the stone. Pushing through into the earth above, the Nutrisore was soon tunneling toward the surface.

"I'll tell Porpetina you said 'Hi'," came the otherworldly baritone of Gengha Quill from the other side of the darkness. "And as for you, Cassiopeia Black, I know we'll meet again… hopefully as friends." There was a loud explosion from below.


	18. On Hilzegaard Rooftop

The Nutrisore burst through the grassy mall of Slonimb College campus and soared into the brisk evening air. Several hundred students - from Slonimb, Bronxvitch, Pincer and Dullpoint - were filing out of the Dining Hall after the mixer had ended. They looked up in awe at the giant flying rodent and its four nude passengers.

"Easy now," Newt whispered to the beast. "I know it feels good to be free. But take us over to that tall building over there."

The Nutrisore couldn't help but loop-de-loop in the air. They hung onto its fur for dear life. Newt steared it a mile away from campus and landed it on the roof of Hilzegaard House. The lights from New York City's skyline flickered to the south. Cass helped Newt unfasten Deborah from the harness and they laid her gently down on the roof.

Dean Ruthephus apparated next to them. "What the hell is going on, Newt? What kind of depraved orgy is this? Hundreds of Muggles just saw a ten-ton rat fly into the night sky! Can you imagine what an Obvliviating mess this is going to be to clean up? Explain yourself."

"This girl is the Succubeast," Cass told the Dean of Magic, pointing at the brunette passed out beneath them, each of her tits larger than the size of her head. Ruthephus whipped out his wand.

"No!" Newt and Cass shouted.

Newt stepped in front of Deborah's body. "I don't believe she has any idea of what she's done. She's a Slonimb Sophomore, and one of my personal acquaintance. I believe Washingbeard had her under the Imperius Curse."

"_Garfungal?_" Dean Ruthephus was taken aback. "But he's been hunting this monster for a year now!"

"A clever ruse," said Newt. "That's why his sketches made it look like a demon of darkness. He was using the girl to feed this Nutrisore here. And I believe it was her poor victims' essences that kept the beast alive in captivity for this long, a potent nutritional supplement indeed. Nutrisores were never meant to be in chains. It took no small evil to sustain it."

Cass urged, "Grover, we've got to get back to Titbird common room. Garfungal was knocked out in our skirmish. If we're lucky, he'll still be there."

"None of you have explained why you're all naked," said the Dean.

"Well... _I_ was just trying to get some action on the night of the Ball," said Brook. "I have no idea what any of this is about."

"Miss Lynam will require disciplinary action for slipping me a love potion," Newt told Ruthephus. "But that can wait... as can other explanations. I think Cass is right and we should get to Washingbeard before he flees."

Dean Ruthephus helped them conjure clothes and get dressed. Brook Lynam was charged with getting Deborah back to her room in Terdley Slonimb, and the other three summoned brooms and flew back to the campus cafe. They flushed themselves down the loo and ran down the subway tracks to Titbird common room.

A group of witches were gathered looking at two collapsed figures on the ground. Professor Washingbeard had a large gash in the side of his head. The Freshman girl Mildred was laying face down underneath the table.

Ruthephus approached her and took her pulse. "She's still alive," he said.

"Some girls just can't handle their hooch," said one of the Titbird students.

"_Episkey!_" Ruthephus healed Washingbeard's injury and the bearded Professor sat up, looking around. The Dean changed his tone and greeted him as a friend. "Ah, Garfungal, a word with you in your office."

Washingbeard got to his feet and went silently with them, away from the curious students. The Professor's slovenly office still had Nutrisore scat floating in the air. Ruthephus slammed the grate shut after them and pointed his wand at the Magical Creatures instructor. "Well, man?"

Cass said, "He has a vial of Veritaserum in his cloak."

"Thank you, Miss Hitchens. Garfungal, if you'd be so kind as to drink that, it might help us get this over with quicker."

The Professor looked defeated and slumped down onto one of his trunks. He took the smoking vial out of his chest pocket and reluctantly took a sip.

"How long have you been one of... _her _followers?" asked Newt.

"Great devils," interjected Ruthephus. "Are you talking about _whom_ I think you're talking about?"

Washingbeard hung his head low. "It's been ever since I was doing my research on Thunderbirds. She seduced me in the mountains of North Carolina and I've been doing her bidding ever since." His shoulders moved up and down as he started to weep. "I can't even drink water anymore... all I crave is her sweet sustenance."

"And why did she have you domesticating Nutrisores?" Newt asked.

"It was for its feces," he said, pointing at the poops hovering about the room. "Her bosom has grown so weighty that she requires a regular dose of Leviteat. And the active ingredient of Leviteat, of course, is Nutrisore feces."

"That's revolting," said Ruthephus.

Newt paced. "And you discovered that the only nutrient powerful enough to keep the creature alive in a cage was a massive quantity of human life-force?"

"Exactly," said Washingbeard. "It took years of trial-and-error."

"But how did you get a Muggle girl to extract that much spirit from men and then nurse it to the Nutrisore?" asked Cass. "It doesn't make sense."

"When the college first opened, the rat beast was just a pup. I had discovered what to feed it, but procuring enough was proving harder. Then, one night, at the beginning of the college's second year, I happened upon a tiny Freshman girl who was being escorted to the Manhattan apartment of a date. She had clearly imbibed so much that she didn't even know where she was going. I entranced them both and took the young woman away from him. Working quickly, I used an ancient dark spell which, after the act of love, traps the man's essence within his lover's body and stores it in her mammary glands..."

Cass gasped, "Salazar Slytherin's Sprit Nutricatem Curse!"

"Precisely," said Washingbeard. "I soon learned that this particular girl - her name is Deborah Cohn - she would from time to time drink to excess and black out. I put a spell on her to alert me when she reached this state, and then I would put her under the Imperius Curse..."

"An unforgivable curse, Garfungal!" Ruthephus spat.

"...and then have her sneak naked into unsuspecting men's bedrooms. Naturally, she was so gorgeous that few refused her advances.

"Yes, well, that worked fine for some time. The Nutrisore was growing larger and larger and requiring bigger, healthier meals. Accordingly, every time I hexed the poor girl with Sprit Nutricatem, her reaction to the curse increased in its potency, until she was taking more and more from her victims. It left them _utterly _depleted. Consequently, Cohn's mammary glands were threatening to burst. I borrowed an Engorgement Cream invented by one of Rowentree's Bio-Potions students and began applying it in small doses to the girl's chest, so that it could accommodate the load. Still, the Nutrisore grew larger and the Sprit Nutricatem more powerful. A vicious cycle."

Newt asked, "Now, why were most of the attacks in Manhattan against young European men?"

"This girl Deborah would frequently go out to parties down in New York City. The urban environment made it easy to go about this business undetected. However, recently, the Nutrisore's hunger has been so great that it's needed to feed more often, and I no longer had the luxury to wait until Cohn's Manhattan weekends. Luckily, the Muggle was also drinking more frequently." Newt felt a guilty twang, knowing he had aided that. He realized that the day he had left her a vase full of champagne was the same night Professor Chao and Professor Chao were attacked.

Washingbeard continued, "And, ha ha, why mostly Europeans, you ask? Because they've been moving to this city in droves, and the less of their seed they spread around the better! Ha ha ha! For that I regret nothing!"

"Garfungal, I am at a loss for words," said Dean Ruthephus.

Cass looked at Newt, "But how did you escape the fate of the other victims?"

"What do you mean?" asked the Dean.

"Newt slept with her multiple times, but was never harmed."

"_What?_" said both Ruthephus and Washingbeard.

"It's true," admitted Newt. "Deb is my lover. But neither of us knew that she was the Succubeast. I believe it might be because our encounters were during the daytime, consensual, and protected. And, while we shared a few drinks, she was never in this zombified state."

"Newt, now I am surprised at _you_," scolded the Dean, "that you would dally with an underclassman Muggle from Slonimb... _who happened to be the Succubeast!_"

Professor Washingbeard continued, "When you hired the brilliant young Newt Scamander to take residency here and help us look for the demon, I was naturally worried. I had the house-elf Onesimus slip a stimulant derived from Mojo Bird feathers into the visiting scholar's drink. That was back when he arrived at the Albion Cultural Club meeting in September. I was hoping his enhanced hormones would distract him from helping to solve the mystery."

"That explains your insatiable lust!" Cass said to Newt.

"But I never drank at that meeting," he admitted.

"Really?"

"No... I was so exhausted from my long day of traveling on the _Trans-Atlantis_ that I merely took the drink to be polite. I never touched it."

The Dean of Magic turned to the Magizoologist. "Newt, I'll reserve judgment on some of your questionable actions. You've uncovered the real evil behind the Succubeast and brought those responsible into the light."

"If it wasn't for Cass, I'd be lying naked in that trunk over there, drained of my essence," said Newt.

"Miss Hitchens," said Ruthephus. "You've risen to the occasion tonight and proved yourself a truly brilliant witch. 50 points to Hilzegaard."

Cass smiled with half of her mouth and shrugged. She looked at Newt and they both laughed. Ruthephus transfigured Professor Washingbeard's Nutrisore cage into a prison cell for the wizard and sealed it with several secure spells. "See if _you _survive in captivity," he said. "And I doubt the dementors of Longsong Prison will provide you with that sustenance you need."


	19. Cass (vii)

My head was spinning from everything that had happened. As I climbed up through the storm drain, Newt put an encouraging hand on my back. We went with Grover back into the common room. Mildred was sitting on the floor, crying profusely. Some of her Titbird classmates were consoling her. Grover broke through the crowd and investigated. Her loose-fitting red robes hung low where her bosoms had been, revealing two black scars. "This was evil magic indeed," said Grover.

"'Adepta Mamilia...'" I whispered.

"Pardon?" he looked at me.

"Gengha Quill," the name slipped off my tongue. Newt and the students recoiled at the sound of it. "She shot several killing curses at us, which we dodged in the smoke, thankfully. But she also sent one curse that I didn't recognize. _Adepta Mamilia_. I believe that's what caused this injury. The Dark Witch made off with this unlucky girl's breasts."

"But why?" asked Newt.

I remembered a hideous illustration from one of Aunt Isla's most ancient, blackest books. "_Horchest_," I whispered.

Grover gasped. "Great devils, Cass. How do you even know that term? That is very old, very dark magic and it hasn't been attempted in many centuries. I can't believe it."

"It's true," I told him. "And it's how she sustains her followers, her Breast Eaters."

Grover stood up and calmed down the crowd, "Now, now, this is balderdash. The Dark Witch was not here, she was never here, and what Cass is saying is a flight of melancholic fancy. Come, let's get Mildred to the Infirmary. We'll find a way to patch her up. And I advise the rest of you to get some sleep."

I couldn't believe he was denying my theory in front of everybody. I had _seen _Gengha Quill's terrifying bosom! Newt whispered, "Come on, let's go." We snuck away from the crowd, making our way up into the cold night air. "Don't worry, I believe you. It's a lot to take in, though. It's all a lot. But at least I have a better idea of what might have happened to Porpetina."

"Well, goodnight then," I told him.

"I don't think I could possibly sleep after all that," Newt said, looking me in the eyes. "Come up for a nightcap."

He put his arm around me and we walked toward Chesterhome. I felt him slip his hand down to my lower back. "You know," I said. "I still have a flask of Polyjuice Potion."

"No, no," he replied. "Come up as you are."

We climbed the stairs back to Suite 7a. After he slid the doors closed, we practically attacked each other, ripping off each other's cloaks with abandon. He pulled me into his bedroom and kissed my pale skin all over. "You're so incredibly beautiful."

I touched his earlobe with the tip of my tongue and whispered, "I love you." I don't know if there was still some Veritaserum in my system or it I just needed to say it.

He kissed me back on the mouth, his moustache tingling my upper lip. "You were so amazing tonight - it's hard not to start falling for you, too."

Newts fingers crept up my smooth white leg and his thumb found a bead between my legs, rubbing it softly. I don't think I had ever been so damp down there. It felt strange being with him in my own body, but the way he was touching me and looking at me made me feel as beautiful as Porpetina. "Take me, Scamander," I begged. He climbed over and pressed his firm shaft hard into me, pushing deep. As he pumped, he raked his nails down my back, leaving small scratches. I took his tight ass in my hands and pulled him to me faster and faster. Thrill spread across my flesh and I felt like it was going to overtake me. For the first time with a lover, I came and came hard.

I shuddered and sighed, but Newt wasn't done with me. He pushed me against the column of the four-poster and we screwed sitting up, gently at first and then with so much passion that we nearly tore down the curtains. I felt another orgasm approaching and this time we came together, our bodies pressed so close that it felt like we were the same two-backed beast.

Slumping down on the sweaty sheets, I knew that one day he would probably get his Porpetina back. But tonight was ours.


	20. Deborah (iii)

Darling Hyacinth,  
I'm devastated that you and Kermit missed the mixer, although I was so spifflicated I don't remember much of it at all. Karen says I need to learn to pace myself, and she's probably right.  
So it's been a strange few days. This old janitor came to me and said they'd found a toxic chemical in the insulation of my dorm room! They're moving me to another house, but here's the crazy part: Apparently it's been messing with my hormones, and that's why my chest has been growing out of control. I've seen the school nurse, and she started me on a reverse hormone treatment. I already feel a few pounds lighter. What a relief!  
The other news is that Franklin came to me and said we need to end things for good. He said he's met another girl on campus. I asked him about his girlfriend back in England, and he told some story about how she was abducted by an evil witch on the other side of the world. I laughed, but he seemed dead serious. He also said he still wants to be friends. I doubted that part, too. But then he made a date to meet for tea next week just to talk.  
If you refuse to come down to Chester County, I'll have to come up to Ithaca to go to your next dance. I never seem to have any luck with boys down here.  
Kisses,  
Deb.  



	21. Cass (viii)

Things were surprisingly quiet for the next few weeks. Mildred's scars were deeply cursed and the poor girl would probably have a rotten Freshman year because of it. Sarah Jane made me buy her a new dress. I asked how she justified her involvement in the feeding of the Nutrisore, and she shrugged and said, "They were just Muggles." Additionally, she even bragged that she was now one of the foremost experts in Nutrisore domestication, now that her advisor was locked up in Longsong.

I came out of my room wearing a long-sleeve black dress and a droopy witch's hat. There was a girl in the common room I didn't recognize, as skinny as a stick. "What do you think?" she asked, posing for me.

"Croila?"

"Shane and I have been working round the clock, and we've finally perfected the antidote to my Engorgement Cream. He said we needed to find a cure, to help some Slow-Nimrod who'd also come in contact with the potion."

"So the Engorgement Cream is safe now?" I asked. "Perhaps I should borrow some... just a little, maybe."

I took the lift down to the lobby. "Miss Hitchens!" called Mr. Nelson. "That giant crate came for you!"

The wooden box was blocking most of the lobby. It was labeled "SOAP," in bright red stamped lettering. An owl swooped in and dropped me the accompanying letter.

"My dear Cass!" wrote my Aunt Isla in a hurried script.

"I've just seen the November Issue of _Grey Cauldron Magazine_, and I noticed that your Professor, Sarrow Forrest-Wood's article, 'The Roots of Crucio Curse Desire in House-Witches,' was co-authored by a _Cass Hitchens_. That's wonderful! But also, are you sure you want to take Bob's last name as your professional pseudonym? You may not want to have anything to do with your father, but the Black name carries a certain prestige. And it could help you get ahead in the wizarding world.

"Uncle Bob's Winter Butterale is his finest yet. I've sent you eleven cases, plus a keg. That should keep you Hilzegaard girls warm for the winter! It's already been distributed to the Hog's Head and the Leaky Cauldron, but the innkeeper at the Three Broomsticks doesn't believe an elite quality Butterbeer could be brewed by a Muggle. It's his loss.

"Now, I know you get a five-day holiday next week. If you haven't been invited to Thanksgiving there, we could do a version of the American Holiday here in London. I'm happy to pay for you plus one or two of your girlfriends to come home, and we'll have a big dinner or something. Let me know and I'll book passage for you on the Trans-Atlantis.

"Love from Bob and Isla.

"P.S. And if you haven't asked out Newton Scamander yet, you know, you're only young once."

I smiled and rolled the parchment up.

"What should I do with this crate?" asked Mr. Nelson. I conjured a crowbar and pried open one of the boards. I took out a six-pack of Butterbeer and handed it to the Squib.

"Happy Thanksgiving," I said. "Have the House-elves put the rest in the cellar." I took another six-pack for myself and walked through the wall into the secret elevator. At the thirteenth floor, instead of getting out into the common room, I climbed up through the lift's ceiling into the elevator shaft. I jumped off of the roof of the elevator onto a narrow ladder and ascended to a locked metal door. "_Alohamora!_"

The Manhattan skyline twinkled in the dirty air to the South. "What are you doing here?" I cried, not expecting to see the Nutrisore back on the rooftop of Hilzegaard. The huge, winged rat was levitating a few feet above the concrete and scratching its side with its sinewy back legs. I went up to it and gave it a rub behind the ear, just like Newt had done to appease it on the night we escaped the Dark Witch. Its huge, beady black eyes boggled. "Go on, scram. No one here's going to feed you anymore. You're just going to have to fend for yourself in the big city. Hopefully you'll find a healthier diet."

The giant rodent gave me a forlorn look. It started fluttering its two tiny wings and scurried off into the smoggy sky.

I sat down on the roof and popped the cork on a Butterbeer, taking out my quill and some fresh parchment.

"Dear Aunt Isla," I wrote.

"Thanks for the generous invitation, and I do hope to come home soon. I miss you both every day. But the truth is, Newt Scamander and I _have _been spending some time together. And he's invited me to take the Thanksgiving holiday with him and go on a bit of a safari, out to the Great Plains in _Ohio_! Isn't that _exotic_? He believes there's a community of Re'em living there amongst the buffalo and he wants to observe them in the wild. And we're going to be camping! You should see his tent. It's four-bedroom, but we'll probably only be needing one, wink wink.

"As for my pen-name, I knew you probably wouldn't like me using Hitchens. But I can't tell you the relief of studying in America and not having to bear the weight of being a Black. No one here cares that I didn't go to Hogwarts, or what family I come from, or that my mother was some Muggle prostitute. They just respect me as a witch, and a damned clever witch sometimes, too.

"I'm drinking Bob's Winter ale on the roof right now, looking out at New York City. It's very beautiful here, in its own way. I can't wait to show you around some day.

"Love always,

"Cass."

I wandered over to where the Hilzegaard owls were roosting and gave a spotted one the letter. It hooted and flew off.

"Cassie? Are you up here?" a girl's voice called from across the roof.

"I'm over here, Gabby," I called back. The stout witch with the shaved head came over to me and I handed her a Butterbeer. "You're late."

She laid a blanket on the concrete and we sat down next to each other. "You brought the stuff?" she asked.

"Sure did," I took my flask out of my cloak and passed it to Gabby. She took a swig and passed it to me. She looked queezy for a moment and then her lilac eyes changed into a light blue. Her bald head started growing long, white hair.

"How do I look?" she asked.

"Hot," I said. "But it's not done yet. Take your robes off."

Gabby pulled off her top and I saw her breasts grow into Porpetina's ample proportions.

"Whoa, who is this girl?" Gabby asked, gawking at her new giant bosom. "Is she really some English actress? How did you get her hair?"

"I concocted it for a friend. But he doesn't need it anymore. I've still got plenty of back stock, so I figured, why let it go to waste?"

"You take some, too!" Gabby ordered. I drank some of the flask and within a few moments, my legs were growing longer and my chest was ripping the armpit seams of my long-sleeved dress. Beneath my witch's hat, my raven hair changed into alabaster. The other Porpetina reached over and started fondling me. "You make the _best _Polyjuices, Cassie," she told me.

I laughed and kissed her on her identical lips. "I love Bronxvitch," I said.

THE END.


End file.
